Convergence
by SpadesJade
Summary: Complete, Sequel pending: Takes place before the movie. During a bank robbery, Seth takes a hostage. She isn't who he thinks she is. A chase and all other kinds of things begin. Rating for violence, swearing, and sexuality.
1. Mistake

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
  
Author's Note: Does anyone visit here anymore? If you do and you like my story, just give me a quick punch of the purple button down below. Nevertheless, I'm writing this because I love George Clooney as Seth Gecko, and had to have some fun with him, plus add in a few other obsessions to make it more interesting. Let me know what you think.  
  
One-Mistake  
  
In the world of killers and thieves, there was no better team than Seth and Ritchie Gecko. There was also no more fucked-up team.  
  
Ritchie was a psychopath--his brother would never admit it out loud, but privately he knew. Ritchie was a rapist and prone to seeing things that weren't there and hearing things that were never spoken. Seth sometimes believed that he was keeping Ritchie out of worse trouble by staying with him. A psychiatrist had once told him he had a Of Mice And Men complex--taking care of a "retard" who was his only real family, while secretly longing for a life of his own. Maybe it was just a matter of time before he did have to get rid of Ritchie. But these thoughts he kept down deep in the darkest parts of his heart. He never voiced them. And the psychiatrist who had suggested them to him had received a broken nose and lost two teeth for his effort.  
  
But all these dark issues were not currently on his mind. At this moment, he was doing what he loved the most. He was robbing a bank. Although his face itched terribly, and the thing foremost in his thoughts was fighting off the urge to rip off the ski mask hiding his discernable features.  
  
It was odd, the fact that Ritchie was the crazier of the two, and yet Seth was the mouth. He gave the orders. He screamed instructions to the clerk, while Ritchie prowled around, glaring at everyone like a very hungry tiger. It didn't hurt that Ritchie shot off his gun every now and again, in just the right spot. And it especially didn't hurt that he had immediately killed both the security guards, and was not above aiming his gun at the innocent children who were unlucky enough to be present in the bank.  
  
They were obeying him. He was the Sultan and they were his slaves. The money was being loaded up into briefcases, just as he instructed. And then, he did a quick survey of the room.  
  
Someone was still sitting in her seat. One of the plush chairs that sat in front of the big desks were the important men who worked at the bank sat, was occupied. She looked at him, unphased by everything. And while she was most likely harmless, it was one thing that Seth despised, defiance.  
  
"Hey," he said, their signal word, and Ritchie cast him a quick swipe of his eyes. Seth jerked his head. Ritchie would handle the situation, but probably with more blood than necessary. "I need you over here."  
  
Ritchie grabbed a hostage--a girl who was just blossoming into adolescence, Ritchie's favorite--and put the gun to the back of her head as he walked to where Seth indicated. Taking over the watching of the money, he did not pay much attention to where Seth was going. He never needed to watch his big brother much. He knew his actions as well as Seth did.  
  
Seth approached the woman. And then he got a good look at her face.  
  
Framed by blond hair instead of the fire-red she used to favor, her face was impassive. She just looked at him coolly, even leaned back in her chair a bit as he got closer.  
  
He stared down at her, in utter shock. She gazed back up into his eyes as if she didn't know him, and didn't really care. She smelled of rich, blonde snobbery. Her hair was expertly done and beautifully kempt, and she was wearing a rich, cream-colored cashmere coat. Underneath, a simple button-down white shirt that looked rather expensive and professionally pressed, along with a pair of designer jeans and polished leather boots.  
  
No, it had to be a coincidence. There was no way...if it was her, she would have recognized him. His tattoo was clearly showing under the mask now, having been moved by his scratching at his neck. No one else in the world had a tattoo like that. And she had always known him by his eyes, no matter what the circumstances.  
  
Then again, if it was her, it was very likely to be a big act. Such things were far from beneath her.  
  
"You have a problem?" she said softly, a mere flicker in her eyes belaying her fear.  
  
"Well, Xanny, starting with you, I'd say yeah."  
  
She raised one delicately kempt eyebrow. "I'm sorry? _What _did you call me?"  
  
"Xanny," he said evenly. "Alexandra Wallace, to be exact. What, you don't recognize me?" The last words were spoken with distinct scorn.  
  
"Should I?" she asked, barely keeping the venom out of her voice.  
  
"Well, aren't you just all fucking holier than thou nowadays," he mocked, lifting up just enough of the ski-mask to expose his face to her. "Ring a fuckin' bell now, darlin'?"  
  
There was real confusion in her face. Either that, or she'd just gotten much better at her little act. Even good enough to fool him. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're-"  
  
She didn't get the rest of the words out. Seth had yanked down his mask and reached out with the same hand to get his grip into the silky blonde hair. Tightening his fingers so hard he was sure he was going to rip at least some of it out, he yanked her to her feet. She let out a yelp and the a screech as she was forced to stand.  
  
"Let me go!" she shrieked, pure indignation. "I haven't done anything to you! You've got your money, just go!"  
  
Seth smiled underneath the mask. "Those were the last words you said to me last time, Xanny," he said. "I told you then, it's not enough."  
  
They finished their business with the bank tellers, and with Ritchie's arms loaded with money, Seth was free to take the hostage.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled as he dragged her backwards toward the bank doors. He yanked her closer, and she lost her footing and wound up bumping against his chest, her head flipping upward so that she could see the world spin around her. His arm went around her throat and he cocked the gun against her temple.  
  
"Shut up," he growled as they backed the rest of the way out. The people were too terrified to even watch, they just lay there on the floor, their faces pressed down, whimpering, begging for it to just be over, the bad guys to just go away and life to return to some kind of normal.  
  
Ritchie was throwing the bags of loot into the back seat. He had already popped the trunk. For a moment, Seth hesitated to throw her in. For all her faults, Xanny did deserve a little better.  
  
Well, maybe a little, but not enough. He grabbed the collar of her coat and spun her around. She banged her head against the top of the trunk and he seized the opportunity to push her down, into the back of the trunk. He hefted her feet in after her and then slammed down the lid.  
  
"Let's go!" Ritchie called. Seth jumped in shotgun, and the car roared off.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
The day had started out simple. Hair appointment, pedicure, manicure. Go to the cleaners, pick up her coat, which had suffered from an accident with a glass of red wine a few days ago. Head down to Victoria's Secret and pick up a little something for later, maybe a few fresh pairs of underwear, if they had any nice colors in. Pass through Parisians, grab a cuppacino. She'd just finished it when she realized she had forgotten to pick up the wedding rings from her safety deposit box. Her mother and father had put them there, stipulating that they were to be used when she married. They were antiques, expensive beyond belief, and would not be kept in some dusty jewelry box awaiting the ceremony. But after all, the wedding was this Saturday, and she had better do it while she had some time.  
  
The simpletons at the bank seemed to have a problem. The manager had been called away for a moment to do a double check on her key, as it resembled one that had been a forgery, presented only a few days before. Of course he knew who she was, he apologized profusely for the convenience, and would hurry as quickly as he could, and it would only take a minute to confirm something. So she waited, admiring her new French manicure--she hadn't had one in a while, and forgot how flattering they could be.  
  
And now that French manicure was being wasted as she scratched against the room of the trunk those horrible villains had thrown her into. The car looked like little more than rust on wheels, and after her head had cleared from the nasty crack she'd taken on her way into this dark hellhole, she wondered if she might be able to punch a hole through it, attract some help.  
  
No luck. And then she'd been given a sharp reproof from someone in the front seat, following by a very sharp braking of the car, which had caused her considerably discomfort. She was sure that the next time they heard her pounding, the car would be stopped, and God-knew what new horror would await her.  
  
_Xanny_. The man had called her Xanny, again and again. Who in the hell was Xanny, and what kind of name was it? Oh, right, short for Alexandra. What a weird nickname. Someone named Alexandra would certainly go by Alex, wouldn't she? But then again, anyone who might know the beast who had kidnapped her in such a familiar way could not be expected to be normal. Or even human, by the looks of him. She shuddered with revulsion. God knew what kind of relationship this Xanny had with that man, and God knew what he would expect of her, as he assumed she was who he thought she was.  
  
She lay on her back in the trunk as it rocked down the highway. They had to be going on a highway, no city roads could be traveled this quickly without attracting a police vehicle. And she'd just had her coat cleaned, too.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
"According to her ID," Seth murmured as he rooted through her purse, "her name now is Augusta Charlene Baxton. Augusta? What kind of fucking name is that?"  
  
"After Caesar Augustus, I'm sure," Ritchie muttered. He glanced at Seth. "Wild guess."  
  
"Oh, so now you're a fuckin' history buff," Seth grumbled.  
  
"So what are we going to do with her?" Ritchie asked casually.  
  
"What we always do with hostages," Seth said, but he was looking out the window, uneasy. "You don't touch her though, got that?"  
  
"I _never _fuckin' touched Xanny," Ritchie said with a small chuckle. "She'd rip my fingers off."  
  
"Good boy. Whatever scheme she's pulling, though, she's deep in it. Acting like she doesn't even know me-pretty damn good acting, too. What the hell was she thinking?"  
  
"She smells like money," Ritchie said.  
  
"Yeah, that's probably it. Doesn't want to blow her cover."  
  
Ritchie gave him a rather cool glance. "Then she's going to be very pissed off at you for blowing it for her with this kidnapping thing."  
  
Seth just grinned back. "Well, I do owe her one. But I'm sure I'll make it all work out in the end."  
  
Ritchie didn't say anything...very loudly, anyway. Seth ignored him as they drove on. 


	2. Rest Stop

Two-Rest Stop  
  
Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity, they stopped. She didn't know what to expect. She hoped they would let her out of this trunk, at least, but soon that hope faded when she heard them distinctly walking away. She panicked briefly--were they just going to leave her here? It had happened many times in the movies. People who take hostages just dumping them in the middle of nowhere. She kicked at the trunk beneath her feet and was satisfied to hear it give a little. Although, even if it did give, it would do her no damn good, as she couldn't turn around, and doubted she could kick a big enough hole to slide through. Although, if no one came for her in a while, it might be worth trying. It was better to try than to just die in here, either from lack of air, food, water, whatever. At least she had her most comfortable outfit on. It was a small consolation.  
  
She rested her head under her arm, wondering how long she'd been in the trunk. She'd never had a good internal sense of time. Five minutes could feel like five hours at times, and then a whole day could pass her before she knew it. She didn't even know if the sun was still up in the sky.  
  
Her eyes drifted shut. The anxiety was just too much. She'd read somewhere that some people dealt with extreme stress by falling asleep. Maybe it was also why people fainted. She'd never been a fainter. And the thought of sleeping in this tomb was repulsive. But then, she heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel, getting closer. Only one set of feet--one person. Maybe it was someone just passing by. Maybe it was her only chance at help. She kicked at the side of the trunk again, and had the satisfaction of hearing the footsteps stop.  
  
Then, to her terror, a key slid into the lock, and fresh air blasted into her lungs. It was night, and there were no lights, just the dazzling stars in the sky, and a shadow looming over her.  
  
The one who had dragged her out of the bank by her hair. She didn't even know his name.  
  
Quickly, so quickly that she didn't have time to fight, he seized her by her wrists and looped her over his shoulders. One shoulder caught her in the gut and squeezed the wind out of her, but soon she was on her feet again, inside a hotel room, whose door had only been a few feet away.  
  
She stumbled and fell back. Her bottom landed on something elastic--a mattress, she realized. She looked around her and nearly gagged at the dismal colors of the hotel room they were in. Or was it a motel? She'd never stayed anywhere that didn't have at least two rooms and designer sheets on the bed. Motels were curiosities she saw along the sides of the road, from the windows of a limousine.  
  
Her captor sat down in a chair a few feet from the bed, between her and the door. He watched her with a distinctly knowing air, as if waiting for her to speak and perfectly ready for whatever she had to say.  
  
"Where are we?" she asked, keeping her voice small and cowed. Maybe that was what he expected.  
  
"Somewhere safe," he said. "For us anyway."  
  
She fidgeted. "What are you going to do with me?"  
  
"Xanny," the man said, his smile nearly charming, "you really can drop the act now."  
  
She frowned, shook her head. "I told you, my name isn't Xanny," she said calmly, reasonably. "You have mistaken me for someone else."  
  
"Oh, right, Augusta." He chuckled in disdain. "Where the fuck did you come up with that one?"  
  
She straightened her shoulders, indignant. "It's the name I was born with," she said. "My grandmother's name, if you must know. And Charlene is for my grandfather, Charles."  
  
"So people actually call you Augusta?" the man mocked. "And you don't want to punch their teeth out for it?"  
  
She looked disgusted. "What a vulgar idea," she murmured.  
  
He tossed his head back and laughed. "My God!" he roared. "You really have turned into quite an actress."  
  
She sighed. Real frustration knit her brow into a thick crease on her forehead. Weariness made her shoulders slump. He wouldn't believe her, anything she said, any form of denial. Whoever this Xanny was, she must certainly look like her enough to entirely bewitch this man. "What do you want with me?" she asked, tired and not containing as much of her fear from her voice as she would have liked.  
  
He rested his cheek on his hand. "It's been a long time," he said, his voice low. "I thought maybe you wouldn't mind a little reunion."  
  
She glanced around, not liking the look in his eyes. "Where is your partner?" she asked.  
  
"He's out, getting us some food," the man said calmly. "I didn't want to leave him here alone with you, although I'm sure you could rip his tongue out if he tried anything."  
  
She seemed surprised by the idea. "This Xanny must be a very tough person. If I were her, would it have been so easy to kidnap me?"  
  
Obviously, this thought hadn't occurred to him. He looked away, as if he was just now considering it. As he did so, she finally had the chance to consider him.  
  
He was of average high and a slim build, made hard and muscular by the rigors of his life, no doubt. He had very dark, short-cut hair, almost black, and it had spiked out from his head more than once, but was now smoothed down. He wore black from head to toe--shoes, pants, jacket (which bore more than a passing resemblance to a sports jacket) and even a black shirt underneath. And what she had seen before and thought she must have mistaken for a patch of dirt was in fact a tattoo, climbing out of the collar of his shirt and crawling up his neck in black sweeping lines. His face had a boyish quality, especially when he smiled, but there was meanness lurking underneath, an ugliness that she was sure could leap out at any time. When his face fell and he considered her seriously, the malice was almost tangible. Then, quickly, he was smiling again, not widely, but it tugged at the corners of his lips and made his eyes dance as he stood up and swung himself around to sit beside her on the bed.  
  
Quickly she scooted away.  
  
"You know, I'm getting a little tired of this act," he said in a low voice, that malice from before slinking out. He raised a hand and rested it on her shoulder. His finger traced the line of her jaw, then down lower to her neck. "You know I'd never hurt you."  
  
"The throbbing bruise on my skull says otherwise," she snapped.  
  
"That wasn't intentional," he said, his hand going to her hair. "Where is it? Let me take a look."  
  
"That isn't necessary, it's fine," she said, scooting farther away.  
  
He let out an exasperated sigh. "All right, Xanny, what the fuck is going on? Did you hit your head or something? Do you have amnesia?"  
  
She shook her head. "I was born Augusta Charlene Baxton. My friends have always called me Charlie. I don't know who this Xanny person is, I swear to God---I don't even know who you are."  
  
He stared at her for a very long moment. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, he would decide to believe her. His hand fell away and rested on his lap, his fingers twitching slightly, probably in irritation. Then he stood up and faced her squarely, pulling his handgun from where he had stowed it somewhere on his person.  
  
"All right then, if that's the way you insist on playing it. Here are the rules. Rule number one, no questions. You ask a question, and Mr. Forty- Five will answer it." He showed her the gun, his dark eyes glittering with suppressed anger. "Rule number two, no noise. You make a noise, Mr. Forty- Five will make a noise. And Rule number three--"he cocked the gun and pointed it at her forehead.  
  
She stared up at him, too shocked to recoil, too numb with fear to react.  
  
"Rule number three is that you don't run. You run and Mr. Forty-Five will be the one who chases you. And Mr. Forty-Five is much faster than you."  
  
He paused, waiting.  
  
"Do you understand the rules, Miss Baxton?"  
  
She nodded. He nodded back, put the gun away (after uncocking it), and sat down in the chair. Resolutely, he turned to the television and flipped it on, saying nothing more to her for a good portion of the evening.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny Wallace, a name she still went by, sat in her apartment, eating a bowl of soup. Soup was cheap, and she liked soup, but it was starting to get to her.  
  
She glanced around. It wasn't such a bad place, for the money. Sure, the ceiling had more cracks in it than a back alley, and the plumbing was horseshit, but she'd dealt with worse, and it was hers. She was safe here. She had locks on the doors, could actually let herself fall into a deep sleep at night, and she had a job with which to keep it all paid for. She'd just earned enough to get herself one of those cheap satellite dishes that would give her more than the basic channels. Although she'd always had good antennae reception and had never had a reason to complain about the lack of programs to watch. There was always some bullshit on to amuse her on any given evening, which she always enjoyed spending at home. One of her neighbors had taken pity on her and given her a couch that wasn't half-bad, having gotten themselves a very nice, plush, brand-new one and having no use for the old. She didn't even need a bed now-she'd been sleeping on the floor, and the couch was much more comfortable.  
  
Life as an ex-con, for her, didn't suck. She was lucky. Damn lucky. Or maybe damn wasn't the word to use-actually, the opposite was more likely true. She was blessed.  
  
She had never even used the word blessed before in casual conversation. She smirked at the change.  
  
It was nine forty-five. Almost time for the news. She liked watching the news-it was a habit she'd gotten into in prison, and found that the world had much worse people in it than her pathetic self.  
  
"Tonight, an armed robbery at the downtown branch of First National results in the death of three guards and the kidnapping of a young woman, details at ten."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, and the only thought in Xanny's mind was: _Oh bloody hell.  
  
_%%%%%%%%%%  
  
"Carl, I think we've got a problem."  
  
She was on the telephone, talking to her boss. He'd hired her six months ago, and since that time she had made him a lot of money. After all, who better than an ex-con artist and thief to sniff out other con-artists and thieves? While Carl wasn't the most brilliant detective, he was rather well connected, and had reluctantly agreed to give her a chance simply because she was the only other Alexandra in the world who had ever gone by the nickname Xanny, other than his dear departed mother, whom he'd loved and compared every woman in his life to since. She'd proven herself well worth her salt within a single month, and he was talking about making her a detective in her own right, she just needed more experience. In other words, she needed to stop getting her own hands dirty all the time and let someone else do the rougher work-but as he didn't have anyone else on his payroll that was capable, for the time being she was stuck in her station.  
  
"What do you mean 'we,' Xan?" came Carl's sleepy voice.  
  
"This guy, Seth Gecko, I know him. He and his brother Ritchie, both."  
  
"Oh, the two lunatics who held up that First National, huh?" He sounded only vaguely interested.  
  
"Those two dangerous lunatics," she reminded him, although her voice lacked any real excitement. Saying Seth and Ritchie were dangerous was like saying the sun was hot.  
  
"What about them? What's that got to do with us? You don't run with him anymore. The cops won't be comin' after you."  
  
"No, but did you get a look at the girl they took hostage?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, that Augusta Baxton woman. Man, she was a good steal for them, wasn't she? Be they're get a load offa her for ransom."  
  
Xanny sighed. Sometimes Carl was so thick. "No, did you get a LOOK at her?" she growled. "_Did she look like anybody you know_?"  
  
He paused. Slowly, the wheels turned. It took a few flicks of the switch, but finally the lights came on. "Looked like you, didn't she? Minus the blue hair."  
  
"Yeah, exactly." Xanny forced her heartbeat to slow down for the fifteenth time. Yeah, Seth had been very pissed at her last time for walking out on him, even though she'd left him the money, hadn't taken a damn thing from him. "What if that's why he took her?" Xanny suggested calmly.  
  
Carl was silent for a long moment. Then, he let out a great big guffaw. "Oh hell, baby! That's brilliant!"  
  
"What's brilliant?" Although she had a sneaky feeling what he was talking about.  
  
"We can offer our services to those Baxton people," Carl explained, in a fit of glee. "You know Seth, we can track him and charge them a fortune! Good thinking girl!"  
  
Xanny hitched. "Uh, yeah, I know, isn't it?" Better to play along. Wouldn't want Carl to think she was going soft in the head. "But," she added, her conscience pricking her, "isn't that a little low? To use my likeness and all of that to scam these people?"  
  
"We ain't gonna scam 'em, Xan," Carl assured her. "But you have to admit it gives us a big edge."  
  
"I'm not sure..."  
  
"Xan," Carl said, "you do this, and I'll make you a partner."  
  
"You're going to make me a partner for this?" Xan echoed, incredulous.  
  
"For the money we're gonna charge 'em, baby, I just may be able to retire!" 


	3. The Once And Future InLaws

Three: The Once and Future In-Laws  
  
Marcos Ferarre, although he was not strictly Latino in his appearance, sat at his desk. Sweat had made a thin sheen over his brow. It wasn't really like him to sweat. He was usually so cool and collected. But this was a bit of a different circumstance.  
  
Augusta, or Gus, as only he was allowed to call her, was missing. Worse, she was a hostage of some very foul criminals. Of course, all of this was just a re-cap, as Marcos had been sitting in a giant pool of his own sweat for the last twelve-hours. Unable to sleep, there hadn't been anything else to do except watch the situation around him unfold.  
  
The calls came rolling in. First there were Augusta's relatives-- although her parents were dead, she had an Aunt Anette who ruled over her life like a matriarch, although she was dependant on Gus for everything. Marcos knew that Gus only tolerated her out of personal amusement. Gus always did exactly what she wanted and relished watching her aunt's face turn colors when she plainly defied her. The bottom line, though, was that Aunt Anette was stricken, emotionally. Gus was all she had left, and the thought of losing her to such wretched circumstances was unbearable.  
  
Then the police came in, followed on the heels by the F.B.I. That was acceptable, Marcos knew his name and fortune warranted that kind of attention. But the other offers-people who claimed to be able to help him, especially this one detective agency, run by some guy named Carl, who said that his assistant knew the Gecko's personally...it was nauseating, but expected.  
  
Still, under such stress, he wasn't dealing with it as lightly as he might normally have done.  
  
It was eight in the morning. His secretary had come in early, a kind older woman named Lila, a few years younger than his mother and more loving toward him than his mother had ever been. She brought him a cup of hot chocolate, disguising it as gourmet coffee in a very expensive china cup. She fielded the phone calls and kept people from bothering him-the condolences alone were enough to make him want to throw things through the window. People never missed an opportunity to kiss your ass, he thought wrily.  
  
Then, abruptly, at eight-ten, the office door opened and Lila stood there, looking slightly frayed. It wasn't so much her composure, but the look on her face.  
  
"Mr. Ferarre," she said, "I am sorry to disturb you-"  
  
He raised an eyebrow. Lila never disturbed him without damn good reason.  
  
"-you need to come and see this."  
  
He stood up and walked around his desk. "What is it?" he asked calmly.  
  
"Those people from that detective agency," Lila said, her voice trembling slightly. "They are here."  
  
"Did you call security?" His voice was sharper than he intended. Lila was not so dim-witted, but still...  
  
She shook her head. "You must come and meet them, sir, please."  
  
Sighing, he walked through his office doors and into the small, elegant lobby. Standing not five feet in front of the secretary's desk stood two people, only one of which could have been Carl. He wore a cheap, dark suit that was obviously an imitation of a more expensive kind, and held a briefcase. While he was remarkably well-manicured, there was a slight shade to his face that bespoke of someone quite willing to do what it took to get the job done.  
  
Then there was the woman beside him. A more steady look at her face, and it was very clear why Lila had come to get him. She was the very image of Augusta.  
  
Although, the fact that she had deep blue hair mingled with darker brown hair underneath, and wore considerably unfashionable clothes that might more commonly be found on a streetwalker than a professional or even a working woman, did not help improve the likeness. But the face was so striking, he couldn't help but see it instantly.  
  
"Can I help you?" Marcos said, his deep voice guarded.  
  
Carl smiled at him. "No, but we can help you."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
When Augusta woke up, it wasn't quite dawn yet. She also wasn't the only one who was awake.  
  
The man who had repeatedly called her Xanny, whose name she had discovered from the news last night, was Seth Gecko, and he and his brother Ritchie took turns sleeping. Neither one seemed to need much, and it was Seth's watch. With a hostage in the room, and the heat of the police all over town, it really didn't pay to let down the guard, even for a thing as vital as rest.  
  
She half expected him to be a smoker, and was surprised to find that he was just sitting there in that chair, doing nothing-then she saw the streetlights outside hit something sitting beside him, something that rippled in golden waves. Alcohol. From the looks of the bottle, Jack Daniels. Oh well, the man probably had a very high tolerance. Possibly even higher than hers.  
  
She hesitated to move, not wanting to give away the fact that she was awake, because he didn't seem to be looking her way, and probably hadn't noticed that her eyes were open. But then he said, "I know you're up. Your breathing changed," and there was no point in lying down anymore, which had suddenly ceased to be comfortable.  
  
She felt a terrible nagging in her bladder. She really, really had to pee. And her hair itched terribly, from a lack of washing from the previous night. She felt dirty and uncomfortable and a sudden wave of anger swept over her at the thought that it was all this man's fault. Steeling up her voice, she sat up and declared;  
  
"I've gotta pee."  
  
He turned toward her. She couldn't see his face, as the light was coming from behind him and casting his features all in shadows. She had no idea what the expression she was receiving was.  
  
To her surprise, he didn't speak, just stood up. He motioned for her to follow, walked over to the bathroom door, and without turning on the light, beckoned for her to enter. She did, the call of nature too loud for her to act in any way defiant. As soon as she was in the bathroom, Seth pulled the door shut, his hand sliding against the lightswitch and turning it on as he stopped, only a crack between the two of them.  
  
"Five minutes," he said.  
  
"Can you...make it ten?" she ventured. "I'd really like to freshen up."  
  
"Seven," he compromised, and pulled the door the rest of the way shut.  
  
She opened her eyes, slowly. The sudden burst of light had been painful, but not unexpected. And as she took care of business, she found herself able to think.  
  
What had kept her so complacent for so long? In her normal environment, she was much more dominant than this. Then again, the threat of a bullet to the brain was quite enough to render anyone docile. Still, if this Seth was convinced that she was this Xanny, it was apparent that he had feelings for her. Feelings that she could, quite possibly, work to her advantage.  
  
She looked at herself in the mirror, using her fingers as a makeshift comb to get her messy blonde locks into something resembling order. This was stupid-what was the name of that disorder that caused captives to sympathize with their captors? She didn't have that, she was sure. She stared at herself even harder-even with the stress of the situation, there were few lines in her face. Years of treatment with every kind of cosmetic known to man had done its job quite well. She unbuttoned the top of her shirt, exposing just a little bit more of her cleavage. Her coat had long since been discarded on the only extra chair in the room. She smoothed down the wrinkles in the white fabric, especially around her midsection. This would work better if she'd thought to wear something briefer around the midriff. She had excellent abs. Then again, she didn't exactly have time to plan for this situation.  
  
She put her hand on the doorknob, and immediately told herself she was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. She was NOT going to seduce that man out there into letting her go. She was NOT going to play pretend and act like this Xanny person and wind up getting herself into a very deep pile of shit. She let go of the doorknob.  
  
By her count, she still had two minutes.  
  
Taking several deep breaths, she let her mind roll through every bit of insignificant knowledge she had ever read about mistaken identity--what had been the giveaways? She'd seen her share of movies where people recognized other people by the simple way they kissed-apparently it was as unique as a signature. But signatures could be forged.  
  
All right, kissing wouldn't be enough. What was it she had read about sexual habits-that originally, the act of oral sex had come from the simple action of a lover making sure that their significant other hadn't been somewhere they shouldn't have been-checking for fidelity. It was a very long shot. It was a stupid long shot. But nothing else she'd said or done had accomplished anything with this man.  
  
And if this didn't work, she was about to commit a very big act of infidelity. Probably not the wisest thing, God knew what he could be carrying.  
  
She turned off the light, and as she stepped out of the bathroom, she abandoned the idea. He was still standing by the door, apparently having listened to her every single move. She couldn't keep the words from her mouth: "You enjoy listening to women pee? Does that get you off?" and was shocked at her own nerve. Maybe she'd freshened up more than she'd thought.  
  
Seth chuckled, giving her a gentle shove back toward the bed. His chuckle did not sound amused, only snide and condescending. But he didn't say a word. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he went back to his chair. The silence was thick in her ears.  
  
A matter of hours ago, she'd sat on this bed and watched the television tell her about her captors. Seth and Ritchie Gecko, bank robbers and murderers. Taking hostages was a standard for them, but keeping them alive was something different. Ritchie was a serious sex offender, and every female hostage they'd ever taken had succumbed to a gruesome fate. But with Seth thinking she was Xanny, it was possible that Ritchie would stay away from her. He'd hardly given her more than a few glances, and hadn't spoken directly to her at all.  
  
She felt a burning sensation on her cheek. She turned her head slightly and saw that Seth was staring at her. He had leaned forward in his chair and some of the shadow had pulled back from his face. His eyes were so, so dark.  
  
Munchausen Syndrome? No, that couldn't be it. That was the one that made mothers poison their kids, right?  
  
"You ready to drop the act?" he asked, his voice a low, purring sound.  
  
"There is no act," she said, very plainly, her voice as simple as she could make it. "Whoever this Xanny is, she must look a lot like me. But I'm not her. Why are you so sure I'm her?"  
  
He seemed to consider this question. If he had an answer, he didn't share it. Instead he slid over and sat down beside her. "I did hear, once upon a time, that we all have a doppelganger, somewhere out there in this world."  
  
She nodded. Doppelganger hadn't been a word she'd expected in his vocabulary.  
  
"But I never believed it. It's just too close a resemblance. Unless Xanny has a long lost twin sister, who the hell else can you be?"  
  
"I promise," she said, taking a deep breath, "I promise on my life, I'm not her. If I'm lying, you can shoot me."  
  
"Dangerous offer to give to a man who has a gun."  
  
She looked at him. "Maybe you just really want me to be Xanny," she said, feeling a little more daring.  
  
"Why would I want that?" His voice stayed mellow, gentle.  
  
"I don't know. This Xanny was important to you?"  
  
He sighed, but seemed to be willing enough to play along. "Yeah, _she _was," he said, putting stress on "she," still not believing her.  
  
"An old girlfriend?"  
  
He grunted, taking a swig from his bottle.  
  
"You parted on bad terms?"  
  
He looked at her.  
  
"You really want to see her again."  
  
He leaned closer to her.  
  
Augusta drew in her breath. "This really isn't the way to make up with an ex-girlfriend, you know."  
  
He kissed her.  
  
She sat there, stunned. He didn't strike her as the kind of man who would force himself on anyone, but apparently the Jack had given him courage. Plus, she wasn't exactly fighting.  
  
He was a good kisser. He didn't press hard, but teased her lips, letting them fit against his. And while she didn't return the desire, she couldn't help but notice how gentle he was, how warm his mouth felt, how the Jack on his breath had a spicy-sweetness, compared to just the alcohol stench that would happen to most drunks.  
  
Then he pulled away, and looked at her. There was puzzlement on his face, as if something didn't quite fit. Maybe there was something to the style of kissing.  
  
God, he was attractive.  
  
As if he just need to make sure, he reached out for her, pulling her body in toward his. This time she was enveloped in all of him, his torso against hers, their chests pressing, his hands around her waist, sliding along her back. He was kissing her much more insistently this time, and she couldn't help but respond, cursing herself for an idiot the whole time. She would seriously have to talk to a shrink about her domination complex when she got back-if she got back.  
  
A chill ran through her. He pulled away, fully frowning.  
  
"What?" she gasped, trying to recover herself.  
  
He just grunted, picked himself up from the bed, and went back to his chair. The sun was rising now, the sky growing paler by the minute. Something had changed. She wasn't exactly sure what. 


	4. Suspicions

Four: Suspicions  
  
Xanny was trying her best not to come across as a seriously uneducated, crude ex-con, but it was hard, considering her surroundings. Mr. Ferarre had asked them to come into his office, and Carl was busy yakking away, talking about how they could help find Augusta, how Xanny had known Seth Gecko personally, and while she was reformed, she was still familiar with his way of doing things.  
  
Mostly, she just kept her mouth shut. It was better to just let Carl go through his act. Mr. Ferarre seemed to be listening with interest, but his eyes kept straying to Xanny, who would look back, too used to stares from her prison life to ignore them.  
  
"Well," Mr. Ferarre said, after Carl had stopped for breath, "this is certainly interesting. Ms. Wallace, I was wondering, would you like to see some pictures of Augusta? I'm sure you would agree that your resemblance to her is more than just passing."  
  
Xanny nodded. "I saw the one of her on the news...I have to admit, I'm curious about the rest of her family. The only contact person we could come up with was you."  
  
"Augusta has an aunt who lives with her. Her father died when she was a teenager, and her mother succumbed to cancer about ten years back. Her aunt's name is Anette. Actually, I would like to call her. She will be interested to meet you."  
  
The was something in the way he said that...as if there was more to those words than just the surface. And the way Mr. Ferarre had utterly switched the conversation from anything Carl had been talking about to talk about Augusta and offers of seeing her pictures...  
  
He produced a small photo album from a drawer in his desk. "Aunt Anette brought this to me for the police to use," he explained, bringing it around his desk and handing it to her. She took it and let it flip open.  
  
Blond haired, blue eyed, and happy, was all that she saw. And rich. Very rich. Always designer clothes, well-styled hair, expensive jewelry in some pictures. This woman, Augusta, was the kind of girl that Seth could potentially use for a lot of money. Although ransoming people wasn't his style. Even if he did manage to figure out that she wasn't Xanny, as he would no doubt eventually, he wouldn't do anything stupid.  
  
Ritchie, however, was a very different story. Xanny felt her skin crawl. She looked up at Mr. Ferarre, who was staring back at her, rather intently.  
  
"I wouldn't worry about your fiancée, Mr. Ferarre," she said in a soft, even voice. "Seth isn't going to let anything happen to her as long as he thinks she's me. And from what I can see here, the resemblance is more than uncanny."  
  
"I know." He paused. They stared at each other, both of them ignoring Carl as he tried in vain to get their attention back into talking about money. After all, he wasn't bringing this look-alike into their midst for free. Still, there was more going on here than he knew...than any of them knew.  
  
_Marcos Ferarre_...well, Augusta certainly had taste. He was like a model from an Armani add. His suit was perfectly pressed, every part of him perfectly groomed and manicured, and to top it all off, he had cheekbones for days. They were so high and perfect, like he'd been sculpted out of marble by Michelangelo himself. He had an actor's discipline for emotions, keeping his entire profile under complete control, not belaying a single sentiment, in spite of the anguish of the situation. In fact, it was almost enough to make Xanny wonder about the entire extent of his concern for his missing fiancée. Still, he didn't come across as a _heartless _man. He was a business man, after all. Even if he did vaguely remind her of Christian Bale from the movie "American Psycho."  
  
"Would you two care for some lunch?" Mr. Ferarre said suddenly, standing up. "I'll call Anette, and we can meet at the house. She will want to meet you, Miss Wallace. No doubt she'll be interested, as I am, in your family."  
  
"Now, wait a moment," Carl said, finally recovering the situation. "There is a question of a fee. We are working people, of course...we can't spend our days sitting around and talking when there is work to be-"  
  
"Yes, yes," Mr. Ferarre said dismissively, "whatever your standard fee is for a day, I'll triple it. I want both you and Miss Wallace at my complete disposal until this mess is solved." He was picking up the phone as he was talking, pressing something into speed dial--Xanny heard it clicking. "Anette," he said after a pause, "I'm bringing over guests. Have the chief prepare something for lunch. Yes, I know it's a little early, I have guests that you'll want to meet. All right." He hung up, smiled at them. He had a beautiful smile--utterly aloof, but beautiful. "Please, I'll have them bring the car around. If you'd be so kind as to wait here."  
  
And he left.  
  
Carl looked at her. She looked back. "Not what you expected as a reception?" she asked in a low voice.  
  
"No, can't say it is," he replied.  
  
"They think I have some connection to Augusta," Xanny said. "They think my resemblance is not a coincidence. At lunch, they're going to ask me about my family."  
  
Carl arched an eyebrow. "And?"  
  
She sighed. "I guess I'll be telling them the truth, then, won't I? Especially if they turn out to be right."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Seth was driving. Ritchie was in the back seat, having graciously offered their hostage shotgun. She had asked, most earnestly, not to be made to ride in the trunk again. It was dark and uncomfortable in the trunk, and she promised to do whatever they said-within reason, she added, none too casually.  
  
They'd hit the Interstate and were headed out toward a small town, where no one would look for them. Seth hated the Midwest--wide open stretches, tiny towns, nothing going on, it made hiding even more difficult. The simple act of walking into a convenience store, looking the way he did, was like a bullhorn, announcing the presence of two dangerous men. The only thing he hated more than the Midwest was the desert, and at least out there they had reasonable speed limits.  
  
She had put the cashmere coat in the trunk, not even balking at the fact that it was already filthy and just getting filthier, but Seth didn't want to leave it behind as a clue. He'd already swept the room for any traces of them, and the worst he'd found was some of her blonde hair in the sink.  
  
Blonde hair...it seemed to suit her. Xanny had always worn her hair so dark, to match the tan that had made itself a permanent part of her skin from so many years outdoors. This woman was as pale and delicate as a hothouse flower. And while the power of cosmetics was great, he was starting to suspect that they weren't that great.  
  
Then there was the way she'd kissed him the night before. Or rather, the way she'd responded to the way he kissed her. Xanny had never, not once in her life, even been able to pretend not to react to his kiss. For all the problems in their relationship, their chemistry was something that held them fast, and only now, after all this time, had it seemed to fail.  
  
It was only ego that made him think that maybe she wasn't who she said she was, he told himself. But after the second time, he was more sure. She didn't feel right. Something was off...even as he looked at her up close, there were flaws in her skin that had never been there before, and flaws he'd memorized completely erased. Was it possible that she really was this Augusta Charlene Baxton? Known as Charlie to those she was familiar with?  
  
In spite of the nagging doubts, there were still other things that argued that she was Xanny. The way she didn't seem to show fear of him was a big one-a pampered little rich bitch couldn't have held herself together that well without some good ugly experiences under her belt. How calm she always was, was another. Even now, she watched the road fly past them, a bit too relaxed, just looking as the world as it whizzed by.  
  
Feeling his look, she turned toward him. Her eyebrows rose into her hairline, a look of question. Even though one of the rules was not to ask questions-then again, a look was not a question, not technically. He could forgive it.  
  
"Ritchie, you got any more of those snacks back there?"  
  
Ritchie replied by throwing up a packet of Ding Dongs, which Seth caught. He handed then to her.  
  
"Hungry?" he asked.  
  
She took them, pulled open the white, translucent plastic, and proceeded to eat. "You're going to ruin my figure," she said softly.  
  
"Well, at the next stop we'll pick you up some granola bars," he shot back wryly.  
  
"Do you know how many carbs granola has?" she asked.  
  
He snorted a laugh. "Oh my God..."  
  
"Beef jerky would be better."  
  
He laughed again, this time louder. "You eat beef jerky?" he asked, incredulous.  
  
"Not usually. Maybe some peanuts, or whatever kind of nuts, would be better, though. Since I don't have a toothbrush. Beef jerky gets in your teeth." She paused. "And a diet coke."  
  
Seth just shook his head. "Why don't you just pick it out the hell yourself?" he said as he pulled off an exit. "We need gas. Ritchie, get me some cash."  
  
They drove into a gas station with a mini-mart. Seth leaned over toward her after turning off the car, as Ritchie got out to fill up the tank.  
  
"You pull any kind of shit on me inside, and you'll be responsible for a lot more than just your death."  
  
She looked at him. "I'm not going to pull any shit," she said. "Scouts honor."  
  
"You were never in girl scouts."  
  
"I was. Ten years. Best damn cookie salesgirl you'll ever meet."  
  
He was stunned to find her smiling at him. Even more stunned to find himself smiling back. But it didn't stop him from showing her the gun tucked into his coat.  
  
"I'm fucking serious," he said, his voice more of a purr than a growl.  
  
"So am I," she sighed. "I won't do anything. If I do, you can cut my pinkie off."  
  
He stifled his response, as Ritchie started knocking on the roof of the car. Seth got out, watched her carefully as she got out of the other side, and let his door swing shut.  
  
"I don't fuckin' like this, man," Ritchie said, and Seth was almost surprised to hear him talk. He'd been so sullen and quiet since the robbery, and Seth knew perfectly well it was because of their guest. Ritchie was usually much more chatty, but not when others were around. He seemed to have a nearly jealous desire for his brother's undivided attention. At times, Seth wondered if he did the horrible things that he sometimes did to their hostages just to get Seth's attention.  
  
He dismissed the thought. "Trust me, brother," he said with a wink and a smile. He and...oh hell, just call her Augusta, it'll keep things straight in his head...Augusta walked toward the mini-mart.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
The shelves were low, but well-stocked. She bobbed through them, picking up things here and there, finally hitting the refrigerator compartments in the back. They didn't have any diet coke, so she substituted a diet Dr. Pepper. Then she noticed that they had her favorite brand of root beer, and picked up a bottle of that, too. She didn't realize how full her hands were until she made her way to the counter and saw the way Seth was looking at her.  
  
"What?"  
  
She glanced down at herself. Then, she went for utterly pathetic. "Come on, _please_? I'm gonna starve to death."  
  
He sighed, motioned for her to put the stuff on the counter. He muttered to the woman cashier about the gas tab and the rang it up. As he handed her a fifty, her eyes slid over and landed on Augusta, suddenly suspicious.  
  
"Do I know you?" the woman asked, her voice much more nasally than any Augusta had ever heard before. Considering she was about fifty pounds overweight and wearing K-mart knock-offs, the rich little brat inside her was extremely offended at the very thought of the two of them knowing each other.  
  
"No," Augusta said coldly. "We don't."  
  
"You sure? Maybe I seen you on T.V." The woman brightened a little, suddenly excited at the thought of having met a television star. "You on a show?"  
  
Augusta stepped closer to the counter. The fact that Seth had stopped moving completely and was giving the cashier a very unpleasant look suddenly brought out an instinct in her not to let anyone get killed.  
  
"No, I'm not." Then, with a sigh, she put her arms around Seth's waist. "Look, can we just pay for the stuff and _go_?" she said, pulling close to him, the kind of intimacy that shows the casualness of lovers. "I'm so fucking tired."  
  
The cashier looked back at Seth, who, in his shock at her sudden contact, had dropped them murderous look and exchanged it for an astonished one. But he was fast, and covered it up with a very smarmy grin. "She hates long trips," he said to the cashier, who just shrugged and started to shove their stuff into a bag.  
  
"That was pretty good," he said to her as they approached the car. "What brought it on?"  
  
"Your look alone would have killed her," Augusta said, rooting through the bag that Seth made her carry-after all, it was her stuff. "I didn't want to be responsible."  
  
"We'll, you're lucky you were with me and not Ritchie," he said in a low voice. She didn't know what that meant, and quite frankly, didn't want to know. 


	5. Revelations

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Although I wouldn't mind my own personal piece of Seth's tattoo. Heh.  
  
A/N: I realize I may have messed with a timeline here--From Dusk Till Dawn came out around the same time as Pulp Fiction, which is referred to here. I realize that the events in this story could not have happened after the release of the film, but in my universe, we're just going to go with it, okay?  
  
Five: Revelation  
  
Aunt Anette was at least in her late sixties, with tightly curled silver hair on her head, bright blue eyes, glasses perched on her nose, and dressed like someone desperately trying to look much younger. Then again, Xanny had never thought much of granny clothes, so she could take out the desperately. She wouldn't wear granny clothes when she got to her age, either.  
  
Mr. Ferarre, who at some point in time had given her discreet permission to call him Marcos, as long as she didn't do it in mixed company, stood up from his seat at the table. "Aunt Anette," he said, "this is Alexandra Wallace, and her employer, Carl Whittaker."  
  
But the woman's eyes were riveted on Xanny. "My God," she whispered, went completely white, and left the room.  
  
They were left staring at each other across the table, then, awkwardly, Xanny sat back down.  
  
"What was that about?" Carl asked, digging into his soup.  
  
Marcos seemed perturbed-the first real emotion she'd seen him show all day. "I...don't know," he said. "But I imagine we'll find out. Please, enjoy lunch."  
  
So they ate. Marcos kept casting his eyes toward the door, as if waiting for something-or someone-to appear, but when no one came and went except for the serving maid, he finally, turned to Xanny with a look of interest and said;  
  
"Tell me about your family."  
  
Xanny wasn't really used to being in such rich surroundings, and in spite of her thickness of skin, she was enjoying the finery. It was almost disappointing to be dragged back from this tiny little fantasy she was enjoying. "I don't have any," she said. "My mom took off when I was five, Dad was hardly around, I think he was a criminal, he finally got sent up and I was put into foster care. Got bounced around-I was a bad kid, I stole and lied every chance I got. I ran away when I was fourteen and lived on my own for a bit. Hooked up with guys here and there, until they weren't any use to me anymore, moved on. Finally I met Seth, and ran with him and his brother Ritchie for a while, and then something...happened."  
  
"What happened?" Marcos asked, his tea half-way to his mouth.  
  
She shrugged. "You ever watch Pulp Fiction? The scene where Travolta and Jackson almost get shot, but the bullets go through them into the wall? And Jackson says he has a moment of clarity?"  
  
He cleared his throat. "I do believe I remember that scene, yes."  
  
"It was sort of like that. I had an epiphany. We were in the middle of a big score-Seth took me out of the small-time cons I was playing and into bigger game, but it was more than I liked. We got our hands on a bunch of money, but the police managed to track us down."  
  
"How?"  
  
She hesitated. She didn't want to tell him it was because Ritchie was a psychopath who killed people for things he imagined they did, and left a very bloody trail for the police to follow. She didn't want him to worry about Augusta. "Bad luck, I guess. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, I wanted to turn myself in, and Seth was sort of upset with me. In the mess, I was arrested and they went free. I managed to plead down the charges and got a reduced sentence. And then Carl hired me after I was paroled. I've been clean ever since."  
  
Marcos finally gave Carl something akin to a respectable look. "You hired a convicted felon?"  
  
"Most detectives are just legalized criminals," Carl said with a half- shrug. "Besides, she's legit. I'm sure of it. It's hard to put much past me."  
  
Marcos chuckled. "Well, I-"  
  
Just then, Anette burst back into the room, holding a box. She came around and sat down at Xanny's side. "My God," she gasped. "All these years...I didn't ever think you'd turn up! My God!"  
  
Xanny turned to her. "I'm sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?"  
  
She opened a box. There was a birth certificate inside, with a set of prints, both of a baby, one of the feet and the other of the hands. On the birth certificate, in faded black ink, was a name. Alexandra Laraine Baxton. Aunt Anette pulled out the certificate.  
  
"You have to be her," Anette said. "The girls were identical twins. You were only five days old when you were taken." She choked back tears. "Kidnapped."  
  
Marcos stood up. Carl had frozen with his spoon half-way to his mouth, soup dribbling slowly back down into the bowl unnoticed. "Aunt Anette," Marcos said, his voice sharp, "I think perhaps you're jumping to conclusions-"  
  
"I am not," Anette said. "You had a birthmark, Alexandra. On your lower back, a discolored blotch shaped like a heart."  
  
Xanny's fork clattered to her plate. "How in the hell did you..."  
  
"It is you!" Anette cried, throwing her arms around the stunned woman. "After all these years, you've finally come home!"  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
"Stupid mother fucker!" Seth growled, hitting the steering wheel. "I told you, Ritchie. I told you ten times not to let that bastard anywhere near our stash."  
  
"And I didn't," Ritchie shot back, just as angrily. "It's not my fucking fault that he figured it out. What am I, a fucking guard dog? Lay the fuck off."  
  
Augusta shrank into her seat, now in the back. They'd stopped at a small house-more like a shack-on the outskirts of one of the run-down towns they passed through, and the boys had gone in for something and apparently hadn't found it. When they emerged, they were yelling at each other, furious, although it was clear that Ritchie was more desperate for Seth to stop yelling at him than the other way around.  
  
"I'm going to blow that bastard's head off into next week," Seth growled. "What's the name of that bar, again?"  
  
"Harold's," Ritchie said, in the middle of loading his gun. "We'll take care of it, Seth. Nobody steals from us."  
  
How long they drove, Augusta didn't know. Seth was so angry he kept jerking the wheel, swearing at whatever driver was stupid enough to get in their way, even if they weren't slowing them down. Finally they pulled into the lot of a place called "Harold's," which was in a busier end of town, but no so busy that the lot was full of cars. There were some low-hanging trees nearby, and Seth pulled behind their dangling branches.  
  
"Ritchie, put the hostage in the trunk."  
  
Augusta's head raised in indignation. Now she was "the hostage" again? "I don't want to go in the trunk," she said firmly.  
  
"Right now, I don't really care what you want," Seth said, his voice even as he checked how many rounds he had in his own gun. "Trunk."  
  
"Oh, come on, Seth, don't put me back in the trunk," she said, her voice half-pleading, half-pissed. "Let me come in."  
  
He spun around in his seat, as if his torso had become detached from his legs. He pointed his gun dead in her face. "No fucking way," he said, dead calm.  
  
She should have flinched. If she'd had a reasonable thought in her head, she would have flinched, cowed, done whatever he wanted. But the thought of that stinky, dark trunk. "I didn't pull any shit in the mini- mart. I even helped cover for you," she said calmly. "I don't want to go back in the trunk. I want to come in."  
  
"Sweetheart," Seth said, his voice starting to belay his impatience, "do you know what we're going in there to do? Do you know what this place is?"  
  
"I don't care, it's got to be better than that trunk."  
  
"Seth, come on," Ritchie said quietly. "Knock her on the head, I'll open the trunk and we'll dump her inside."  
  
Seth seemed to consider this option. She just stared at him, unblinking.  
  
"Please? If I'm lying, Ritchie can cut me up into little pieces."  
  
"The day I start fucking trusting my hostages..." Seth grumbled, but didn't finish. He pulled his gun away, got out of the car, walked around to the other side and nearly dragged Augusta out. With a firm grip on her arm, he guided her into the bar, Ritchie just ahead of them. They walked in, and Seth firmly pushed her into a set by the door.  
  
"You just remember what you said," Seth said, leaning down and staring her very hard in the face.  
  
She smirked. "Whyever would I want to run away? I'm having way to much fun."  
  
He didn't change expression as he pulled back and stormed across the room toward the bar, Ritchie at his side.  
  
"Asshole," she grumbled. "Both of you." Sliding back, she made herself as comfortable as the unyielding wooden seat would allow her, stretching out her legs-man, she hated cramped back seats-and folding her arms, glaring at anyone who dared look at her. At least they could have brought her a beer.  
  
Seth went to the bar. She didn't hear the exchange, but the bartender, after considerable hesitation, directed the two men to a back room. Seth and Ritchie disappeared.  
  
She stared after them. It was the first time they'd both been out of her sight since that awful time in the trunk. But then she heard some faint sounds, sounds that sent a chill through her, and she perked up, the tingle going through her spine and up into her head, making her hair stand on end. In a few seconds, Seth and Ritchie were coming out of the room, Seth carrying a backpack that looked like it had belonged to a teenager, dark maroon. His gun was concealed again, his other hand free, and as he passed by her, he reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up with him.  
  
Just then, Ritchie spun around. "What the fuck?" he snarled.  
  
Seth stopped in the dark foyer. The door was open. His grip on Augusta, which had been iron, suddenly slacked, and for the first time she saw the fleeting signs of panic in his usually confident face.  
  
"Who the fuck said that?" Ritchie shouted into the room. There weren't a lot of people there-a spattering of locals, none of which looked like they were too far beyond conscious.  
  
"What is it?" Seth snapped.  
  
"Some prick just called us a couple of faggots," Ritchie said. "I wanna know who!"  
  
"Ritchie, come on, we need to go. I don't care what anybody says about us and neither should you."  
  
"Fuck that Seth, if you'd heard it you'd be cracking skulls together," Ritchie said with a brief turn of his head. "Who the fuck said it!!" He seemed to zone in on a middle-aged man, sitting at the bar, who looked particularly drunk and defiant. "You said it, didn't you, you old fuck!?"  
  
"Ritchie," Seth said, but before he could stop him, Ritchie had kicked the barstool out from under the man and sent him crashing to the floor. Seth didn't realize it, but he had let go of Augusta.  
  
She looked toward the door. Sure, she could run, but where would she go? And she had given her word, and a promise. No way was she going to risk Ritchie getting the chance to cut her up into little pieces. That guy was a fucking psycho.  
  
Seth had stepped back into the bar to pull Ritchie back, who was kicking the breath out of the guy on the floor, right in the softness of his stomach. "That looks good enough to me, man," Seth said amiably, guiding Ritchie away. "Don't think he'll be shooting off his mouth anytime soon."  
  
"Not without any fucking teeth!" Ritchie finished with a kick to the jaw. He spun around and marched out, walking right past Augusta and out into the parking lot.  
  
Seth stopped in the doorway, looking at Augusta, as if surprised to see her. He gestured with his hand, and she stepped outside. Ritchie was having a fit in the lot.  
  
"I heard him Seth, I fucking heard him, I swear to God!" he was saying as he kicked his way to the car.  
  
"I believe you, Ritchie," Seth said as he opened the back door for Augusta. He set the bag of money on the seat beside her and closed the door.  
  
"You're not just saying that, are you, Seth?" Ritchie said, calming enough to yank open the passenger door. "You do believe me?"  
  
"I said I did, Ritchie," Seth said, getting in. "Now come on, let's go before they see the mess we made in the back room."  
  
"I hate it when people call me names, Seth," Ritchie said. "He's just lucky he didn't call me crazy. I would have killed him if he'd called me crazy."  
  
"I know, Ritchie. I know."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
It was unbelievable. Like something out of Investigative Reports, or Unsolved Mysteries.  
  
"We should check her prints, to be sure," Marcos suggested. "Make sure they match."  
  
"Sure, sure, whatever," Anette said, sighing through her tears. "My God, we looked for you for years. We even paid to have a story run about you on Unsolved Mysteries. Finally, when your parents died, the search was given up. Augusta has no memory of you at all. I figured you were lost to us, so I let it go, as well. But now you're here!" She hugged her, fiercely. "Now you're home!"  
  
Xanny looked over Anette's shoulder toward Carl, who was gawking. She could practically see the wheels in his mind turning, trying to figure out the situation, seeing if there was any money in it for him. Carl was a good man at heart, but he was all too fond of the almighty-dollar.  
  
"Wait a minute," Xanny said, giving Anette a gentle push away. "This is very... very sudden. And you're being awfully trusting that I'm for real and not just a scam. How do you know I'm this Alexandra? Mr. Ferarre is right, we need to do a fingerprint check."  
  
"Fine, fine, whatever you want," Anette said, wiping her nose with an embroidered handkerchief. "Whenever you want. Marcos?" she looked to him, expectantly.  
  
It was Carl who spoke up. "I can make a few calls. We should be able to arrange it for sometime this afternoon."  
  
As if not having realized the man was in the room, Anette turned to him, "Are you the one who brought our little girl back home?"  
  
"This is my boss, uh..." Oh hell, she didn't want to call her Aunt, maybe she'd be okay with Miss. "Miss Anette. This is Carl. You met him before, didn't you?"  
  
"Oh yes," Anette said, shaking his hand. "Alexandra works for you?"  
  
"Yeah," Carl said, starting to regain his foothold in the situation. "But if what you're saying is right, and Xanny here-"  
  
"Xanny?" Anette echoed, confused.  
  
"Xanny is what everyone calls me," Xanny explained.  
  
"That's so strange! Why not Alex or Alexa? Or even Andra, if you don't like the beginning. Xanny? That's very...odd."  
  
"I like it," Xanny said. "Listen, I think we need to deal with the first crisis first. Your niece, Miss Anette, she's been kidnapped by a very dangerous criminal. A criminal that I, unfortunately, know personally. That's why we came here, to offer our services in helping to find them and return Augusta home."  
  
"You know these criminals?" The older woman seemed shocked into repulsion. "How in the world do you know them?"  
  
"Because I used to be one of them," Xanny said, with an edge to her voice. "Please, Miss Anette, you're going to have to sit and listen for a while. If I am this missing twin, I haven't had the prettiest life, and you might not be so happy to have found me, once you know where I've been." 


	6. Tit For Tat

Six: Tit For Tat  
  
They holed up in another hotel, a dozen or so miles out of town, ready to jump to the next shit-hole when the need arose. They got lucky and found a cheap place with two room suites, where Seth counted their stash, with the new shipment added in, while Ritchie kept an eye on their hostage and watched cartoons.  
  
As the greenbacks floated through his hands, Seth's mind kept wandering. What in the hell had he been thinking? Xanny or not, he shouldn't have dragged her along on this. It was getting distracting, especially the way she seemed to have become their third wheel. And the more he was around her, the more he was sure she was telling the truth. She was not Xanny. And if she wasn't Xanny, then who in the hell was she?  
  
The last thing in the world he wanted to do was admit to her that he'd been wrong. It seemed a shameful thing, to lose face to a hostage. Then again, he'd tolerated her pleas to sit in the car instead of ride in the trunk, he'd let her sit out in the bar while he'd gone back and blown that asshole to bits and gotten back what was rightfully his, and she hadn't tried anything. She'd played along in the convenience store...the convenience store...the feel of her arms around his waist...  
  
He heard the door creak open. Ritchie was standing there. "What's going on, man?" he said, slightly irritated. "You've been in here almost an hour. Is it all there or not?"  
  
"Yeah, it's all here," Seth said, shoving the last stack of hundred dollar bills into the suitcase and latching it shut.  
  
"He didn't touch any of it?"  
  
"Maybe a few hundred, not enough. We did really good on that last bank haul."  
  
"So what's the plan now?"  
  
"We find a new place to hide it," Seth answered. "Where you wanna go?"  
  
"Mexico," Ritchie said. "Rice and beans and 100 proof liquor, and all as cheap as horseshit."  
  
"Sounds good. So we keep heading west, probably into Texas, try to make our way down to the border."  
  
"And what about her?" Ritchie said, casually, a thumb shot over his shoulder into the other room.  
  
"I'll take care of it." No, he did not want Ritchie to know that the woman wasn't Xanny. Although Ritchie had to have figured it out by now. She hadn't given him any evil eyes, hadn't said more than a few words to him outside of simple common courtesy ...in fact, she'd been too polite.  
  
Xanny and Ritchie hadn't ever liked each other, and Seth knew why. They both vied for his attention, sought the number one position in his eyes. And in the bottom of his dark little ego, he'd relished it, their desiring to be important to him, more important than anything else. In his love-starved life, it was the only real affection he'd ever known.

Then one day, Xanny didn't want to play anymore. He'd never seen Ritchie so happy.  
  
"Well, I'm getting tired of baby sitting," Ritchie grumbled, sitting down on the bed.  
  
"I'll cover it for a while," Seth said, sliding the suitcase into the closet and closing the door. "Take a nap, you're on watch tonight."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Ritchie said, lying down without bothering to do more than kick off his shoes. Seth pulled the door shut behind him as he walked out into the small living room.  
  
She was on the floor in front of the couch, curled up, her knees tucked up to her chin. He regarded her carefully, examining the changes again. If it was Xanny, it would have cost her a near fortune to get her hair to look so naturally blond, after all the different colors it had been forced to endure. She didn't look like she'd ever had to work a day in her life-she was plump, even, compared to the Xanny he remembered. And her eyes, as she turned her gaze to him. They never looked at him with such a distance, curious, wondering, not sure. She'd always been so sure with him.  
  
He sat down on the couch, on the other end, away from her. She went back to watching television-some old rerun of a Dick Van Dyke show, God knew what channel. At least it wasn't the Brady Bunch. When the show was over, she reached over and flipped off the set.  
  
There was a heavy pause, and then, he said, "So, let's say that, for a moment, I pretend to believe your story. That your real name is Augusta Charlene Baxton, an heiress, engaged to a multi-millionaire."  
  
"News reports usually sensationalize things," she murmured. "Actually, he's a billionaire."  
  
Seth made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, not realizing it until she turned around, a little startled. "See, that's just my point. That's exactly the sort of thing Xanny would have said. Take a bad situation and make it worse."  
  
Augusta unfurled her legs, and pulled herself up onto the couch. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's the truth. All of it."  
  
He nodded. "So then tell me about this Marcos Ferarre guy. Your fiancée. Other than the fact that he's a billionaire."  
  
She seemed bewildered by the request. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Are you in love with him?"  
  
Even more bewilderment, and he understood because he felt it himself. Why in the hell had he asked her that? But to his greater surprise, she didn't answer right away. Any other woman, completely in love with a man, would have said "yes" as a simple gut-reaction. She looked away, strands of her pale hair covering her face.  
  
"I...uh...yeah, I love him."  
  
Seth smiled. "Right."  
  
She sharply turned back to him. "I don't really see what it has to do with anything."  
  
"A lot, actually. He in love with you?"  
  
She looked down. "Yes. I think so."  
  
"And what would he be willing to do to have you back?"  
  
"Anything," she said, with considerably less hesitation. "Probably give you a lot more money than anything you have in that little suitcase of yours."  
  
He leaned just a little closer to her. "And would you like that? Him ransoming you? Would it make him more appealing in your eyes?"  
  
Now she was getting a little angry. "Provided you actually gave me back to him, I would think we'd all have other things on our minds."  
  
"Why haven't you tried to run?" he asked.  
  
"Because you threatened to shoot me if I did," she shot back.  
  
"And you always do what people tell you to do when they threaten you? A spoiled little rich girl like you?"  
  
More anger. "How do you know I'm spoiled?"  
  
"Either that or your just so soft you wouldn't know how to run if the door was wide open."  
  
Flickers of rage. Any minute now and she was going to pop. "Have I been acting like I'm soft?"  
  
He gave her a little smile. "No. You're acting like someone who's actually having herself a good time."  
  
Her chin shot up. "Fuck you."  
  
"Oh, so you do have fangs."  
  
"What the hell are you trying to do?" she demanded. "What the hell do you want to know from me?"  
  
He sighed, considering. "I want to know," he said, slowly, measuring his words, "is how the hell you think all of this is going to turn out."  
  
The anger turned back into shock. "You're the villain mastermind," she said, "you tell me."  
  
"Maybe it's time to give your boyfriend a call," Seth said leisurely, stretching. "See what he's really willing to do to get you back."  
  
She folded her arms, turned away. Long seconds passed before she turned back, and said, "I stink."  
  
He almost jumped. "Come again?"  
  
"I haven't showered since...God, when was it? Two days ago? I don't know. I smell. You want a smelly hostage? Or do you want to let me use the shower?"  
  
"Oh, so now we're planning on trying to run, are we?"  
  
"Of course not," she sighed. "I just want a shower." She lifted the limp locks of her hair. "Please?"  
  
"I don't know. What's in it for me?"  
  
"A fresher-smelling hostage?"  
  
"I don't plan on shoving you up my nose."  
  
"Could have fooled me last night."  
  
"Touché," he muttered, feeling a reluctant respect for her comeback. "But still, tit for tat." She shot a glare at him. He realized what he'd said. "What I mean is, you tell me more about this Marcos guy, and I let you shower. Fair trade?"  
  
She sighed, deeply. "Whatever you want, Seth. Can I go now?"  
  
"Just be quiet. Ritchie is sleeping on the bed."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny pressed the cotton swab deeper into her arm. She hated getting pricked with needles-she bruised like a peach. Her phobia of needles kept her from a heroin addiction about ten years ago, and she was rather protective of it. Plus, the way all these people acted like they were so important-Marcos on the phone, getting everything he wanted pushed to the front of everyone's schedule. And then there was Aunt Anette, who was running her around the house, showing her pictures, rooms, bits of knick- knacks that were important to her family history in some way...  
  
The pictures were the worst. Especially the ones of her parents. Two people she'd never met. If they even were her parents. If the blood test didn't come back and state clearly that she was not Augusta's long-lost twin, that Anette was crazy, and that she was just a two bit hood who was desperately trying to reform for reasons even she wasn't sure of sometimes.  
  
And now she was in a huge suite, bigger than any hotel room she'd ever holed up in, bigger than any apartment she'd rented, bigger probably than any room she had ever called her own. The four-poster bed had such thick, expensive-looking blankets covering it, she wasn't sure she was even supposed to sleep under them. It was the first moment she'd had alone all day, and now that night had fallen, she had a chance to breathe.  
  
There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened before she had the chance to call. Carl stuck his head around the door. "You okay?" he asked, the first sign of sympathy he'd shown all day. It had been a matter of time for him, really.  
  
"I'll live," she said, feeling completely exhausted.  
  
He sat down beside her, not too close, but close enough. "Talk to me, Wallace," he said softly. "Tell me what you aren't telling these people."  
  
So much for sympathy. "For all I know, this could all be a big joke," she said. "I don't know."  
  
"And the Geckos?"  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"Is Augusta in danger?"  
  
"As long as Seth believes she's me-"  
  
"Do you think that will last? I mean, men have a way of recognizing the women in their lives. Mistaken identity only lasts for so long."  
  
"True," she said with a deep sigh. "But it isn't Seth I'm worried about. It's Ritchie."  
  
"The sex offender."  
  
"Yeah. It's bad. He never messed with me because I could kick his ass, and he knew Seth would absolutely kill him. Plus he never liked me because I was so important to Seth. Ritchie's very possessive of him. Of course, so was I," she added with a grunt. "When Ritchie finds out she's not me, he might try something."  
  
"Won't Seth be really pissed?"  
  
"He'll figure it out before Ritchie does. I don't know if he'll tell Ritchie or not. It totally depends on Augusta, how good of a hostage she's being."  
  
Carl started to grin. "I talked to Mr. Ferarre for a while, while you were being pricked and prodded," he said. "Got some information on Augusta, but I have a feeling he was holding back. I think maybe you should try to talk to him."  
  
"Why me? You're the detective."  
  
"And you're the star of this show, whether I like it or not," Carl replied, although he didn't sound at all resentful. "But from what I was able to get, Augusta is sort of a recluse. A private person, someone not a lot of people really know. She pretends to be all normal, goes through the motions of someone in her position-a rich woman with money to spend-but Ferarre says that she's got a side to her that he's only gotten glimpses of."  
  
"A side?"  
  
"Yeah. One that's a lot like you. You know, I was thinking...psychological research says that when twins are separated, they tend to develop some of the same personality characteristics. What if this Augusta is really a wild woman, whose been hiding it from everyone all these years for lack of an opportunity to really cut loose?"  
  
"Are you saying I'm a wild woman?" Xanny asked with a grin.  
  
"You used to be," Carl said seriously. "Maybe you've gotten wiser, but this woman, she's been sheltered. She's never really been exposed to any serious danger. Now that she is, I have a feeling she's going to become a wild card."  
  
"You're not suggesting she'd run with Seth and Ritchie of her own free will, are you?"  
  
Carl shrugged. "I have no idea what she'll do. But do you think she's been pretending to be you, all this time, or that she's been trying to convince the Geckos that they've got the wrong girl? I doubt she's been pretending to be you. People from this kind of background have a certain pride-they'd certainly never act to please a couple of criminals, no matter how threatened they were."  
  
"So she's being a pain in their ass, most likely, and then they find out she's not who they thought she was. So what happens then? Seth feeds her to his brother?"  
  
"That's where my theory of the wild card comes in. She joins up with them to keep them from killing her."  
  
"Twists and turns," Xanny muttered, nursing her arm.  
  
"We need to start tracking these people as soon as possible. You know the best place to start?"  
  
"Well, they kept their loot somewhere in Moorseville, and I'm sure that they went back there to keep it all in one place," Xanny said. "Either that or they picked up their stash because they're ready to start spending."  
  
"Think they'll stay in the country?"  
  
"I don't know. Ritchie's always wanted to go to Mexico. I don't know if they've been already, but I guess now would be a good time, considering the haul they got from the bank."  
  
"Then tomorrow morning we head out to Moorseville," Carl said, "and start following their trail."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Xanny said. Her arm began to throb.


	7. Give and Take

Seven: Give and Take  
  
When Augusta came out of the shower, she only then realized how good she felt. It was amazing, the therapeutic value of a shower. The way physically cleaning the body seemed to make everything else seem so minor, so trivial, nothing to be bothered with. She hadn't realized how awful she'd felt until she didn't feel awful anymore.  
  
The towels were pathetic. They didn't cover her, and she really didn't want to put on her old clothes. She didn't have any choice with her underwear, but to have that shirt back on her skin, it was just icky.  
  
With her underwear back on and the towel firmly wrapped around her chest, she cracked open the door to the bathroom. Ritchie was still asleep on the bed, and the room was pretty dark from the thickness of the drawn curtains. However, it was plain enough to see that her shirt and jeans, from where she'd thrown them on the floor, were no longer there.  
  
Her eye caught on something hanging on the back of the chair that went with the small writing desk. It was a coat. More specifically, it was a man's coat, Seth's black jacket. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulders-it was wide enough, her chest was moderate so it covered her completely. She looked for something to tie around her waist, but didn't see anything.  
  
The alarm that had shot through her when she didn't see her clothes made itself known when she heard the front door click shut. She took a deep breath and knew that she couldn't stand here in the dark forever, she had to go into the other room and find out what was going on. If Seth was still around, he would be expecting her to show herself. And from the looks of it, he had left his coat for her to wear.  
  
The thought of prancing around for him in his own coat sent a mild flip-flop through her stomach. She slipped back into the bathroom and closed the door, her knees feeling strange. She had to sit down on the toilet. Her hair, which was still very wet, and had been combed only by her fingers, hung in her face in thick tendrils. She wasn't used to living like this-living in fear. Had she considered all her options? Running was out, Seth would shoot her, or worse, send Ritchie after her. Had she considered manipulating Seth? After the way he'd kissed her, after the way he'd seemed so bent on believing she was Xanny...no, she'd ruled out manipulating him. Seth didn't strike her as the type that could be manipulated by a woman. He was way to centered on himself to allow that. She thought, with a cruel twist of her mouth, that he was probably a bad lover, considering. A man as attractive as him had to draw women to him, very cheap ones, considering his environment. He had no need to be a lover. They were all probably overeager to please him. He probably didn't even know what a pussy tasted like, her evil little voice piped up. She almost laughed.  
  
His earlier interest in Marcos had been sort of odd. Had he wanted to know about his competition? Did he even consider Marcos his competition? That idea was pretty ridiculous. But if he wanted to know about Marcos, as their deal had been, well, she was going to tell him. Every dirty little detail. Watch him squirm. Things like that would probably make him squirm. If he thought he was going to seduce her, he was going to be very, very sorry. She was highly demanding.  
  
It was probably one of the reasons that Marcos wasn't terribly fond of her. In spite of the fact that they were going to be married. She certainly wasn't overly-fond of him. He could be so cold, so rigid--she hated having to demand things from him, hated having to be so specific about what she wanted. But they got along, their personalities, when they weren't in a sexual environment, clicked rather well, and business-wise it was a very good match. At her age, she knew her choices were limited, if she wanted to maintain her quality of life. Yeah, she could have any handsome young thing she wanted, she knew it, but what good would they do her? She didn't want a puppy, panting at her ankles. She wanted someone who could equal her.  
  
She stood up, feeling a little calmer. Then the light tap on the door caused her heart-rate to triple again.  
  
"Augusta?" It was Seth. "You're taking a little long, aren't you?"  
  
"Be out in ten seconds," she said, and listened for the sound of his steps, walking away. Then she turned out the light and opened the door.  
  
Seth was back in the other room, hovering in the small kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she walked into the room, feeling very vulnerable with all her legs exposed. It was the first time in her life she'd ever felt self-conscious about the length of her legs.  
  
From the look on Seth's face as he turned toward her, her feelings were well-justified. "Where are my clothes?" she asked, a bit sharp.  
  
"I figured you wouldn't want to put dirty clothes back on," he said, before sipping his Jack. "I went and washed them."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Washed them. As in put them in a machine."  
  
"This place has a Laundromat?"  
  
"Yeah. Detergent dispensers and everything." He gave her a little smirk. "What, you don't think I know how to wash clothes? Don't worry, your expensive things won't be ruined. I put them on delicate."  
  
She didn't know whether to laugh or thank him. And then she noticed that, without his coat on, his arms were showing. And one of his arms was covered, almost completely, with the same long black reaching spindles that reached up his neck. Against his tanned skin, the effect was quite...alluring.  
  
He followed her eyes. "Hurt like a sonovabitch. You know that the black tattooing needle is the thickest one?"  
  
Her cheek twitched. "Actually, yeah, I did."  
  
He chuckled, swallowing a considerable amount of alcohol. Great, just what she needed--to be alone with a drunk, half-naked man who was, to be honest, very handsome when he wasn't flinging his forty-four around into people's faces.  
  
"I have one, too," she heard herself saying.  
  
His eyebrows arched. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You gonna tell me where?"  
  
"On the small of my back. A faerie with her wings extended. Blue and purple. Shows only when I wear low-riders and a thong."  
  
The sudden assertion of her own voice felt wrong, but it was too late. His arrogant grin reappeared and he walked back over to the couch, sat down, and patted the cushions. "Where were we?" he asked.  
  
She curled up in the corner. Damn, she wished like hell that she had something to cover her legs. The way he stared down at them, almost hungrily...."You wanted to know about Marcos," she said.  
  
"Yeah, your boyfriend. The one you think is in love with you."  
  
"Well, we are engaged," she said with a sigh.  
  
"Then where's the ring?"  
  
"It was at the jewelry shop. Getting cleaned."  
  
"What happened, you drop it in your caviar?"  
  
She shot him a dirty look. "If you must know, it was damaged in a-"  
  
He leaned closer when she stopped, and didn't start again. "In a..."  
  
"In a fight," she muttered.  
  
His eyes widened. "You were in a fight?"  
  
"Some stupid idiot tried to steal my purse," she said, her voice defensive. "So I punched him. Almost knocked the diamond out of the setting."  
  
"Oh, so you're a tough little rich girl."  
  
"Every now and again."  
  
"Uh huh. So does this Marcos like it when you're tough?"  
  
"He doesn't know about it. I don't tell him things like that."  
  
"Why not? He wouldn't approve?"  
  
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't. I told him some stupid story--I don't remember it now."  
  
Obviously he'd been drinking more than just the glass she'd seen when she came into the room, because the next question was even more outrageous than she'd expected. "Well, is he at least good in the sack?"  
  
She gave him a sideglance. "You sure you want the truth?"  
  
His cheek twitched. "Yeah," he said, although his tone was uncomfortable. As if he'd just realized what he'd said.  
  
"He's good," she said. "At a lot of things. But it gets tiring, having to push him into doing what I want."  
  
Seth just stared at her, looking a little more than just confused.  
  
Augusta laughed, suddenly, remembering her previous thoughts. She loved being right sometimes. "You men, you must go to the same club or something...rich and poor, good and bad alike. None of you seem to realize how a woman needs a lot more... priming...before she's ready to pump."  
  
Seth looked away. Hell no, that man was NOT blushing! She curled her legs up underneath her, even thought it pushed her closer to him. "Ah, you too," she said.  
  
"Me too, what?" he asked, finishing his drink and pouring himself another.  
  
"You're just a get in, get out, get on with your life kind of guy," she said. "Like those stupid Chili's commercials. You know, some men consider it a point of pride to make a woman come."  
  
He actually shifted away from her. "You are not implying that I'm not capable of-"  
  
"I'm not implying anything," she said, a bit too innocently. "I'm stating with perfect obviousness. A woman's sexual organs, in case you never noticed, are not like a man's. They need much more than just a drop of the pants to get them ready to go. And I seem to be doing it with all the men who somehow got the idea into their heads that we're self-lubricating."  
  
He was really uncomfortable now, so uncomfortable that he had turned back on her--fight or flight had suddenly chosen fight. "So your man Marcos is a giver, then?"  
  
"Not unless I make him," she said with a rather disgusted sigh. "But every girl eventually wakes up and realizes that Prince Charming doesn't exist, and if he does, he certainly doesn't already know about foreplay, he has to be trained."  
  
It was too much for him. He leaned forward, and whether his look was of malice or lust, she had no idea, but she knew she'd gone too far. "You know," he said, his voice low, "a dog is a man's best friend. Sometimes we love them more than our wives. And dogs need to be trained. Nothing in this world comes ready-made."  
  
She looked away, appearing bored. "Whatever."  
  
"And," Seth added, "men do get bored doing all the giving if they're not getting anything back."  
  
"Men get plenty back-"  
  
"Oh, sure, you think we do. But tit for tat, it's only fair. And how many times have you put a dick in your mouth?"  
  
She glared at him. "Probably not as many as you," she growled.  
  
He leaned over, grabbed her hair, which was still wet, and squishy between his fingers. Damn, it hurt, the way it pulled. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he let her go.  
  
"You know, I really did want to keep this polite," he said, after a few long seconds that were filled with nothing but the sound of them both trying to regain their breath.  
  
"That idea sort of got thrown out the window the second you asked me about my sex life," she replied.  
  
"True enough." He looked at her, again, finally, and seemed genuinely contrite. "I'm going to go put your clothes in the dryer. Be right back."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Marcos was angry. He threw down the papers on his desk, the profile of Seth and Richard Gecko staring back at him from their black and white mug shots. There was a brief rap at the door before it opened, and a head topped with blue hair appeared.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" she asked. "It's getting a little late, isn't it?"  
  
"You know, if you're going to be a member of this family," Marcos said, his voice a bit louder than he intended, "you're going to have to realize that you need to be honest. About everything. So I'll forgive you this once. But I want to know why you didn't tell me how dangerous these men were."  
  
Xanny stopped, blinked, looked at his desk, then back at him. "You didn't know they were dangerous?" she asked.  
  
"Almost every hostage they've ever had has wound up splattered across a hotel room wall because Richard Gecko is a psychopath sex offender."  
  
"Yeah, and you wanted me to bring that up and make you worry about Augusta even more?"  
  
"It would have been the truth."  
  
There was a heavy silence. Xanny sat down in one of the soft leather chairs in front of Marcos' desk. "You already have an office in her house?" she observed, but it sounded more like a question.  
  
"This was her father's old office. She lets me use it. I've been staying here since...with Aunt Anette..."  
  
"Yeah," Xanny said, surprised the conversation switch worked. "You want me to tell you the truth, then, about Seth and me?"  
  
Marcos sat down, and the distance between them, although wide, with the large chairs and even larger desk, felt much smaller. "Tell me," he said.  
  
"As long as Seth believes she's me, which we don't know if he still does, or if he's figured it out or not, Ritchie won't try anything. But as soon as they know she isn't me, I can't make any promises. All we can hope is that some sort of sentimental attachment will keep him from leaving her alone with Ritchie. But I should warn you, Seth is a little bit in denial about the extent of his brother's craze on harming women."  
  
"And how strong is this sentimental attachment? You two didn't part on the best of terms."  
  
"In a way, no, but in another way, yes. I mean, it was because of me that they managed to escape. But Seth thought he was in love with me. He was very angry at me for leaving him."  
  
"And were you in love with him?"  
  
"I thought I was. I realize now that I wasn't. As for him...who the hell knows? Seth's whole life has been about violence and who can shoot first and who can walk away from a fight. It's not like he's really ever been in touch with his sensitive side. But I doubt he'll hurt Augusta himself. It's not his way. He never even slapped me in all the years we were together, and considering how many fights he gets into regularly, that does say something for his character."  
  
"Character. The character of a thief and a murderer."  
  
"Yeah, I know. He always says that he doesn't kill when he doesn't have to, but that doesn't go for much, does it?"  
  
Marcos shook his head, the first lines of worry appearing on his face. "I'll kill them both, personally, if they've hurt her."  
  
"You know," Xanny said, after a pause, "while we're being honest here, I think I should tell you something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I've gotten a sense of your fiancée, Augusta...my twin, if that's who she really is. And from what I can gather, I think she might be more capable of taking care of herself in this kind of situation than you might think."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"That side she keeps from you? Yes, Carl and I talk, we always share information," she added, when Marcos looked a little taken-aback. "We suspect that--and please don't think this is too far-fetched--that maybe she and I might have more in common than just a face."  
  
"Well, I hope, to a certain extent, you're right," he said, and then seemed deeply troubled. "Although what the hell all of this is going to do to our lives when she comes back, I don't know."  
  
"Cart before the horse, buddy," Xanny said with a light grin, standing up. "Trust me. No, are we all set for the morning?"  
  
"Carl gave me your list. A motorcycle?"  
  
"Good for cutting across rough terrain. I don't like to be stuck to roads. And the rest?"  
  
"All ready and waiting." He stood up. "I'll be coming with you."  
  
She stopped in her tracks, which had been heading for the door. "Excuse me?"  
  
"I'm coming along," Marcos said, very causally as he scooped up his papers. "I am paying for this, I want to oversee it personally."  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea," Xanny protested. "Things could get ugly-"  
  
"And Augusta isn't the only one with a hidden tough side," Marcos said, his grin slightly cocky.  
  
Xanny shook her head. "You're crazy. And crazy in this way could be dangerous. I'll only allow it on one condition."  
  
"You'll ALLOW," Marcos echoed.  
  
"Yes, ALLOW," she shot back. "Or we can quit and walk off the case."  
  
"You wouldn't do that-"  
  
"I would, before I'd put innocent people in danger."  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, Marcos sighed. "Yes, your condition?"  
  
"You follow orders. If we tell you to duck and cover, you do it. We tell you to run, you do it. We tell you to sit down when you pee, you do it. Got it?"  
  
He stared at her, his earlier shock returning. No one ever talked to him like that, not even Augusta. And it bothered him that he sort of liked it, coming from a woman with very blue hair and Augusta's face, but without her cold eccentricity. "Within reason, and you have a deal."  
  
"Sitting down when you pee isn't reasonable? We women have to do it," she said with a smile. "Now, I'm going to bed. See you at five." 


	8. The Other Man's Grass

Holy shit this chapter is long. BTW, I don't anything FDTD related, although if Seth needs some company he can have mine...heh heh.

Special thanks to a1iciaxoxo for reviewing. Keep it coming, girl, I need it!

And in case your wondering, I'm not really sure what the title of this chapter means. It just sounded good.

Eight: The Other Man's Grass  
  
When Seth came back from the Laundromat, Augusta was watching the news on the local station. She switched it off quickly when he came through the door.  
  
"What was it?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing," she said, obviously lying. Then, "Listen, I'm...sorry, about before."  
  
A dark eyebrow arched.  
  
"I was rude to you. Let's face it, I was being a total bitch. And you were very nice to wash my clothes for me." She paused. "Are they still in one piece?"  
  
He lifted them up. "I wasn't sure if I should put them in the dryer," he said, "so I figured you should hang them up to dry in the bathroom."  
  
She stood up, and took the clothes to go and do as he said. When she came back, he was watching the news.  
  
"Private detectives, huh?" Seth said with a smirk. "So the pigs can't catch us, and they have to hire rent-a-cops."  
  
"Private detectives are commonly called dicks, I think," she corrected him. "Security guards are rent-a-cops."  
  
He gave her a slight smile before turning off the television. She sat back down on the couch and drank deeply from the Jack she had poured herself. He noticed she filled his glass, too.  
  
"So, are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?" he asked, lifting his glass.  
  
She just looked at him. "I don't think any woman can take advantage of you, Seth."  
  
"Well, you're right," he said, his voice rather dark. "Not anymore, anyway."  
  
There was a heavy pause. "Tell me about Xanny," Augusta said softly, leaning closer.  
  
"Why?" Still dark, still low. To realize how angry he was at her, only made him angrier for letting her have that power over him.  
  
"I told you about Marcos. Tit for tat."  
  
He glanced down at her. Her hair had mostly dried and was feathering around her face in light tendrils. She really didn't look that much like Xanny-her face had always been so hard, never soft and open like this.  
  
"She was my girlfriend. Although in the lives of thieves, you don't really get to date. Your woman either runs with you or waits for you in an apartment and you send her money and visit her every now and again. She ran with us. Ritchie didn't like her because she could take him."  
  
When the lull didn't look like it was going to let up, Augusta asked, "Did you love her?"  
  
Seth shrugged. "I thought I did." He looked down at Augusta, who was leaning on her arms, her legs curled away from him. Damn, that woman had legs to the ceiling. Xanny's legs had been like that, but never so smooth, so well cared-for. "Guess that'll teach me, huh?"  
  
"Do I really look like her?" Augusta asked, although it sounded like something she'd asked before.  
  
Seth raised his hand, his fingers brushing her chin. "You have her cheeks, her nose, her lips...but your eyes are different."  
  
"How different?"  
  
"Yours are...soft." And before he knew what he was doing, he leaned forward and kissed her.  
  
She kissed back. He could taste the Jack on her tongue, knew she'd probably had more than just the glass he'd seen her drinking when he'd come back. She was on her knees, on the couch, her chest pressing into his, his coat having fallen open and exposing her chest. The scars Xanny had always carried were gone, and her skin was smoother than anything he'd ever felt. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pressing her down into the thin cushions of the couch, her body so naked against his he thought he might burst through his pants. She had shed his coat, it lay on the floor, forgotten. The couch was just long enough for him to stretch himself out on top of her, at his full length.  
  
He tried to tell himself to stop, that it was a mistake, that she wasn't in her right mind, and that he wasn't going to take advantage of her. His hands trailed down her thighs, down her calves, feeling the firm muscle and skin under his calloused fingers. She purred in the back of her throat as his hands came back up and he settled himself between her legs. Her fingers had found the buttons of his vest and were undoing them, reaching inside, her fingernails grazing his ribs, pinching his nipples. Something trailed his tattoo, all the way to his neck. Then he realized it wasn't her hand, but her tongue.  
  
It had been too long for him. She was too warm, too soft, too willing. He couldn't stop himself. Or maybe, he told himself, just before he lost his last coherent thought, he just wouldn't, because it felt too damn good.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Five o'clock came very quickly. Sleep had never been much of a problem for her-she fell fast and she woke quickly. Being in this strange place, she hardly slept at all and worried she would be tired for the trip, but found her adrenaline pumping energy into her body the second the mounted the Harley Marcos had provided for her.  
  
Carl drove his car-it was a simple Oldsmobile, no frills, no flashiness. He didn't go for flashy when he was working. His greatest asset was to go unnoticed, and for that job, his car had always worked perfectly fine. Xanny had to smile in amusement at the way Marcos turned up his nose the second he slid inside-although Carl had replaced the air freshener only two days ago. Maybe he just wasn't used to the smell of cheapness.  
  
She revved up the bike. It hummed like a hummingbird, a lovely sound. She slipped the simple black helmet over her head and flipped up the visor. She looked like a biker chick, wisps of her blue hair falling down her shoulders, her body well protected by a leather jacket and chaps over her jeans. In the places she would have to look for Seth and Ritchie, a tough appearance was the best way to go. She walked the bike closer to the car, before the huge garage doors were opened.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want a better car?" she heard Marcos saying, his voice one of strained politeness. "I mean, nothing against this car, but are you sure it can make the trip? It's a lot of miles to-"  
  
"It's fine," Carl said, a bit patronizing. "This car is fine, trust me. Your rich --- "Xanny revved the bike, blocking the word "ass" that she knew was going to come out of Carl's mouth "---won't be the worse for wear."  
  
"So let's hit the road," she said cheerfully.  
  
"Wait a second," Marcos called to her, reaching into his jacket pocket. He looked so strange, dressed in plain civilian duds---jeans, button-down shirt, white jacket. The only thing that gave him away was the platinum Rolex on his wrist. He pulled out a scarf. "Take this with you."  
  
Xanny took it. It was made of thick purple silk, old and worn a bit around the edged. While it was a solid shade of purple, a paisley design had been etched into it, causing some of the silk to be raised against her fingers. It was a lovely scarf, if obviously well-used.  
  
"She retired it recently, in favor of one I bought her," Marcos explained, "but she's had that forever. It will be a way for her to know that I sent you. Show her the scarf."  
  
Xanny nodded, tucking it away into one of the inside pockets of her leather jacket. Zipping it safely away, she turned the bike toward the garage door, and it began to open.  
  
Dawn had just cracked the sky. The fresh smell of morning reaching her nose and she realized how she missed watching the sun rise. While her waking hours had always been this early in prison, the windows didn't allow for much of a glimpse of the sky, and they never let anyone out onto the yard before 10 a.m. Her fists unclenched their grip on the handlebars, her chest expanded as her lungs filled with new air. It was a beautiful day.  
  
She hit the accelerator and was off.  
  
They'd made plans already, very clear and careful plans. Xanny was to go on ahead and see if she could pick up the trail. She was to appear to be alone, so that meant that Carl and Marcos had to follow at a safe distance. Xanny had every confidence that Carl would be able to follow her, even into the labyrinth into which she had to travel. He may appear to be a clean-cut businessman to his clients, but he could fade into the darker tones of a seedier life-style without having to change his clothes.  
  
Moorseville was a good three hour's ride, and she didn't hesitate to let the bike, which was obviously brand new, stretch its legs. She was in the outskirts before breakfast, which her stomach promptly reminded her of with a low, churning growl.  
  
Moorseville....Seth had had some kind of twisted fondness for this place. On and off, over the years, he'd used to keep his loot safe, but had to know it was getting less and less safe around here. More than likely, if the man had half-a-brain, he wouldn't be coming back.  
  
A familiar diner, with its pink neon lights fading under the bright sun, came up on the side of the road. Xanny pulled in, parked and locked the bike, and went inside. She strode right up to the counter, ordered a ham and egg scramble and black coffee, and waited for her meal.  
  
The three hours had gone fast. She was enjoying herself--she could tell by the way she was taping her fingers impatiently against the counter. She only had nervous energy when she was having a good time. Otherwise she was very good at keeping herself still. Although throughout the whole drive, she had not permitted herself to think about the thought of facing Seth again.  
  
Marcos had a rather expensive radio system installed in the motorcycle so she could keep an ear out for local news. The dial automatically scanned for a local news station when the old one faded out, the speaker on a wireless system that curved over her ear inside the motorcycle helmet. She had forgotten to take it off when she went inside, and discovered it when she went to push back some hair that hung in her face. She slipped it off and put it in her jacket pocket.  
  
There hadn't been anything worth listening to. While her radar was set for the Gecko name, she didn't allow herself a visual picture. The only one she was familiar with anymore was his mug shot, the one that had splayed across Marcos' desk last night. The one where he stared out at the world, his head cocked lightly to one side, his eyes pure arrogance, the rest of him expressionless. Sometimes, when she thought about that picture too long, she worried that he'd gone dead inside. The black and white tones made the picture seem so hollow. His face so empty.  
  
She snapped out of it when her plate was put in front of her. She reached for the salt shaker, which was just out of her reach, when a rather large hand engulfed it and pushed it closer to her.  
  
A man, rather big, hairless, and wearing a brown plaid shirt, smiled at her. He had all his teeth, but they didn't look to be in the absolute best of shape. Although, from the way he smiled at her, she didn't take him to be more than harmless. She could tell a lot about a person from the way they smiled.  
  
That was what had first attracted her to Seth.  
  
Pushing the thought away, she blinked, took the shaker, and put salt on her eggs. "Pepper?" she asked, keeping it light and friendly.  
  
The man obliged. "Haven't seen you around."  
  
"Just passing through," she said, her voice low but cheerful. "You a regular here?"  
  
"Every day for as long as I can remember," the man answered, extending a hand. "Mickey."  
  
She shook it. "Minnie," she answered back. He laughed, a big belly laugh.  
  
"No, seriously."  
  
"Alex," she said, not daring the Xanny nick-name. If anyone around here remembered her, it would stand out too clearly. Alex was common enough. She began to eat her eggs, knowing he would naturally extend the conversation.  
  
"So where you headed?"  
  
"Don't know. Wherever the wind blows." She took a heavy swig of her coffee. Damn if these little diners didn't know how to make good coffee. Who needed Marcos' gourmet? It had left a rather sour taste in her mouth that morning.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Alex," he said, his speech polite enough. "You and your blue hair."  
  
"Oh, you like it?" she said, half-handedly flinging one of the straggling locks. "I was thinking of changing it. The blue is getting a little old."  
  
"No, it works on you. It's pretty-like a sky at midnight with a full moon."  
  
"Oh, you're a poet?" she said, raising one eyebrow.  
  
He shrugged. "Much as you can be in this little town. Actually, I own the local movie theater."  
  
She was surprised. "That must be good business."  
  
"Yeah, actually. Well, sometimes. It can dip down sometimes, too. Would you like to--" and then he was cut off by a commotion in the doorway.  
  
It wasn't really a commotion, it was just two men, but she caught the air of panic around them instantly. One of them looked dead at Mickey, who had turned around to watch their entrance, and Mickey, without blinking, slid off his stool.  
  
"Sorry, Alex...I'll be back," he said, although his voice was unsure. She watched them walk away into a table about ten feet from her.  
  
Xanny turned away, straining her ear in their direction. The diner was pretty quiet for eight in the morning, the rush crowd having just passed through. She had to listen hard, but listening hard was something she was good at.  
  
"....major fuckin' trouble, man..."  
  
"....shot him dead! Bits and pieces of him..."  
  
"....money gone. I mean gone, bro'. We're flat back where we..."  
  
"...not going near him. Don't want anything more to do with it..."  
  
"Damn Geckos. You shoulda known better than to fuck with them."  
  
The name Gecko reached her ear like a trumpet. That and the words "money gone." She swallowed the last of her coffee, her eggs already gone, vacuumed down her throat, and stood up. She dropped a twenty on the counter, and started a slow walk toward the bathroom-she had to pass directly by the table in order to get there.  
  
Just as she was right behind Mickey, she dropped something small out of her pocket. It was white and round and landed on the floor. She continued her walk into the bathroom, went into a stall, and slipped the radio speaker around her ear again.  
  
Marcos was as good as his word. The listening device, from a friend of his at the CIA, worked perfectly.  
  
"They slipped into Harold's like a couple of shadows, man. I even heard they had a girl with them who waited in the bar the whole time." Xanny guessed, from the scratchy tone, that it was the guy with the goatee who was talking. The voice seemed to match him. Used a silencer, would have gone completely unnoticed if that one with the glasses-"  
  
"Ritchie," came a higher-pitched voice, probably the blond.  
  
"Ritchie, yeah, suddenly went nuts and started punching out a guy at the bar for no reason. Then they left. Nobody even knew Rick was dead for almost an hour, and he'd already gotten mushy."  
  
"That's sick man," Mickey said, a shudder in his voice. "So where are they now?"  
  
"Dunno, they left town. Harold's is down for a while, though. Police everywhere. We'll have to find a different spot for Friday night."  
  
She pulled out the earpiece. This sounded like gossip, not like fellow thugs commiserating over a loss. But at least she had a piece of the puzzle.  
  
She came out of the bathroom to find her place cleared and her twenty gone. She smiled to herself and slipped out the door, not bothering to look back at Mickey, who had totally forgotten about her as well.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Augusta sat in one of the two chairs that went with the tiny dining set in their hotel room suite, if it was legal to call it a suite. The chair was uncomfortable. The padding had a rough upholstery which was making a bumpy imprint onto her thighs, but at the moment, she didn't really care. She was too lost in thought.  
  
What in the hell had she been thinking before? One minute she'd been terrified of Seth, and with good reason. A few shots of Jack later and she was doing him on the couch. And the worst of it was she had liked it. A lot. Whoever said it wasn't the size of the instrument but how you used it only had half the story. It did matter how you used it. But the size made it sweeter, like two scoops on an ice cream cone.  
  
She shut her eyes, letting out a small moan. Seth was pretty wiped out, sleeping rather soundly on the couch. God, the man had been a machine. She would never have imagined him capable of so many rounds. Of course, he was a criminal. It had probably been a while for him, since he'd had any decent female to rub up against.  
  
Which led her right back to her problem. This didn't change anything. She was still a hostage. She was not about to suddenly take up a gun and join their cause. She was not going to play along and act like one of the gang. And if she tried to run, Seth would shoot her down like a dog. Which just totally killed the magic.  
  
It hadn't been tender or loving, not in the least. Sure, the kissing had been good, but it was kissing for the sake of cooperation, not for the sake of showing real affection. It was been animal-like---especially that last time, on her knees. That was probably the best one.  
  
She blushed, so hot her ears burned. She covered her face with her hands, leaned forward, didn't know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Screaming was out, she told herself. She'd wake all of them up and no doubt they'd both be pissed. Seth for his loss of sleep, and Ritchie for realizing Seth hadn't woken him up for the night watch like he was supposed to. She'd never heard of a criminal sleeping so damn much.  
  
What in the hell was she going to do? She sighed, deeply, rubbing the rest of the sleep out of her eyes. She had to stay awake, she had to think her way through this. She'd become a cliché, and she hated clichés with the worst kind of passion. She was a moll. Or worse, she was a whore.  
  
This would probably be a lot easier, her evil voice said, if she wasn't still pleasantly sore from the night's exertions. Every time she moved, her body reminded her how good it had been.  
  
She was going to burn in hell. Probably in a deeper circle than Seth or Ritchie. At least they didn't pretend to be something they weren't--- they were honest about their wicked ways. She, however, hadn't a fucking clue. Not a single, solitary, fucking clue.  
  
She was startled out of her depressing reverie by the sound of Seth's breath abruptly changing. She turned around, saw him coming awake on the couch. He reached out, probably for her, although the simple act of sleeping together on the couch had meant they were practically on top of each other, which negating the need for reaching out. When he realized he was alone, his head popped up, swung around, his eyes finally landing on her after some considerable straining.  
  
"Hey," he said, a causal sort of greeting.  
  
"Good morning," she said, her voice coming out coarse.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Just peachy," she said, turning away.  
  
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It took him a few minutes to wake himself up enough to stand up and walk over to her. He'd snuck a blanket off the other bed to cover them, unwilling to let her sleep on the couch alone, like she'd been willing to do, and equally unwilling to sleep with her in a bed right next to his brother. Or rather, she was totally unwilling in that respect. Things were bad enough, she didn't need the younger psycho waking up and finding his brother in grande---  
  
He interrupted her thoughts. The blanket was wrapped around his waist. "Where are my pants?" he asked.  
  
"There," she said, pointing at the other chair. "I borrowed them when I went over to the Laundromat."  
  
He stared down at her. She wasn't look at him but she could feel his eyes. "The Laundromat?" he echoed.  
  
"To get my stuff dryer quicker. That hanging in the bathroom bit wasn't going fast enough."  
  
He picked up his pants. He smirked, and she knew he was picturing her in them. "How'd they fit?" he asked.  
  
"They were a little wide around the waist," she admitted, "but the legs weren't too long."  
  
He reached out, obviously feeling a great deal more intimate with her in the afterglow than she was, his fingers caressing her naked knee. "I'm not surprised," he said, his voice low, nearly affectionate.  
  
She tolerated his touch, in spite of the flash of memories. She'd never known anyone to have such a fascination with her legs before. She knew they were pretty to look at, but beyond that, it just showed her how naive she was. She guessed that everybody had a fetish. She was a bit embarrassed to discover hers seemed to be about tattoos.  
  
"Ritchie is still asleep," she said as his hand drifted away. Seth grunted. "He's gonna be a little pissed if we wake him up and he finds us like this," she added. "We'd better get dressed."  
  
Seth looked at her, from where he'd shuffled over to the tiny coffee- maker. "You worried about being considerate of Ritchie's feelings?"  
  
"I'm worried about him thinking I'm up for grabs," she said, her voice a little edgier than she'd intended, but no less than what she felt.  
  
He seemed startled. "You're not," he said plainly.  
  
Her mouth twitched, she looked away, then stood up and scooped her clothes off the chair. She slid on the jeans, as her shirt was already on and thoroughly buttoned down, covering her chest, which had been so carelessly exposed the night before. That was what probably had accelerated things.  
  
"You okay?" he asked, the edge now in his voice.  
  
"I'm fine. A little sore, but I'm fine."  
  
"That's not what I mean."  
  
She buttoned up her jeans, turned, looked at him. He seemed a bit angry, the way his brow was so deeply furrowed.  
  
"You're really worried about the mental health of your hostage?" she asked, her voice getting colder by the second, in spite of the warning bells. "Because that's what I still am, you know. Your hostage."  
  
He drew a breath. "Listen-"  
  
"No," she snapped, holding up a hand. "No, I don't want to hear it. I'm not mad at you. You're a man, for chrissake. You just do what comes natural."  
  
"Felt like it was pretty natural for you, too," he said, a bit of a grin flashing at her.  
  
"Yeah, it was. But that's all it was, you know." She drew a breath. "I don't blame you or anything. And no, I'm not going to cry rape. You didn't rape me."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"But..." she trailed off, sliding down into the chair again. "I'm not..." Again. "I don't..." Dammit, no words seemed right. "I'm not one of you, you know. I won't ever be."  
  
"I know that, too," he said, a little sadly.  
  
"You convinced now that I'm not Xanny?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah. Completely." He turned away, finished making the coffee, and then went into the other room to use the bathroom, get dressed, and wake Ritchie. She drank all the coffee in the pot by the time he came back, and had brewed him another with the remaining little packet. There was barely enough for both him and Ritchie, who was particularly bitchy, because he'd slept too long.


	9. It Takes A Thief

Nine: It Takes A Thief  
  
When Xanny pulled up to the bar called Harold's, she was greeting by the sight of bright yellow police tape and swarms of officers, including a few rather harrowed-looking detectives. Xanny pulled off her helmet, shaking down her hair. The blue was going to get her into trouble here, she knew that much, so she had her credentials, which weren't terribly impressive on their own, but much moreso when she had a name like Marcos Ferarre backing her up. As she approached the scene, she felt eyes look her up and down warily, wondering if she was a regular who was going to be turned away, and they were waiting for the scene it would inevitably bring.  
  
"Excuse me?" she called, using her most polite tones. "Who is in charge, here?"  
  
Even more odd looks were brought on as the older of the two harrowed- looking detectives turned and approached her. "That would be me," he said, "Detective Wayne."  
  
"If your first name is Bruce, I'll buy you a beer," she said, evoking a smile from him. Even though he looked at her blue hair a little warily.  
  
"It's Richard, and the bar is closed, unfortunately. How can I help you?"  
  
She pulled out her credentials. "My name is Alexandra Wallace. I'm working for Marcos Ferarre, the fiancée of Augusta Baxton, the woman who was kidnapped by the Gecko brothers. I've been following a trail, and it leads here. I heard there was a shooting."  
  
"You don't look like any kind of detective I've ever seen," he said, eyeing her credentials.  
  
"Actually, I'm the best kind. A former criminal. It does take a thief to catch one, you know."  
  
He seemed a little taken aback by her response.  
  
"Detective Wayne? The shooting?"  
  
"Yes, late yesterday," Det. Wayne said. "I'm sorry, you're working for who?"  
  
"Marcos Ferarre. You know, the billionare?"  
  
The name seemed to snap into his memory. "Oh. Well, this is really official police business. I'm afraid that private detectives, no matter who their employers, are not-"  
  
"Detective Wayne, I'm carrying on me at all times a cel-phone whose #1 speed-dial number is directly to Mr. Ferarre's private line. I'm sure that if you need assuring, he would be willing to do it for you. And if that's not enough, he can speak to your superior."  
  
The man scowled. "Now, listen. I don't like threats."  
  
"I'm not threatening you, sir," she said plainly. "I just want to know if the Geckos were here and if Miss Baxton was with them."  
  
The man heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, and yes, according to the witnesses we have. At least, we think it's her. A blond woman, well- dressed, wearing a thick white coat, was in the bar. She wasn't directly involved with the shooting but she did leave with the men, whose description matches the Geckos."  
  
"Thank you. And this happened when, exactly?"  
  
A reluctant drawing of breath preceeded, but he finally said, "At about six o'clock in the evening, yesterday."  
  
"Good." She gave it a little thought. "Do you think they've left town already?"  
  
"Wouldn't know. They would have had plenty of time, but it depends."  
  
"Do you know where they're headed?"  
  
"Tire tracks indicate they're headed west." He looked away, briefly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Wallace. I have to get back to work."  
  
She nodded, turned, headed toward her bike. She looked down at the scattered gravel as she passed, saw a big patch of it stripped bare by a spinning tire. Seth's style, no doubt. And they were definitely headed west.  
  
Her hunch about Texas might be right after all. But after a shooting, Seth and Ritchie would have to be total idiots to stay in town. Then suddenly, as she climbed on the bike, all hell broke loose behind her.  
  
The policemen were scattering toward their cars, and she could hear the blast of static on their radios. The voice of the operator drifted toward her, and she caught a coherent sentence.  
  
"Shooting in progress, Frankville police requesting urgent back-up, officers down, repeat, officers down."  
  
She followed without hesitation.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
They were just cleaning up and getting ready to leave when all hell broke loose.  
  
The screeching of tires in the parking lot was the first warning. Seth grabbed for his gun, all thoughts of his confusion about Augusta and last night banished as he made sure the gun was loaded. Ritchie was just a hair faster than him, already at the window, weapon pointed and ready.  
  
"We got a problem, Seth," Ritchie said, dangerously close to calm.  
  
"How many?" Seth asked.  
  
"Two cars. Five men in each car. Looks like mafia. You don't think Teddy was working for them, do you?"  
  
"Dunno, we haven't been in town a while. Teddy might have actually upped his connections." He peeked out through the curtains. "All this racket and they're going to attract attention."  
  
The men-there were actually only nine of them-were forming a line like a flock of geese toward the door. One of them had a battering ram.  
  
"Fuck!" Seth yelled as it slammed the door once. He spun on Augusta, shoved her toward the wall. He flipped the table over, making a rather flimsy shield.  
  
"What's the plan, Seth?" Ritchie called.  
  
"We can't get bottlenecked in here," Seth called back as he shoved Augusta down behind the table. "We're going to have to clear a path."  
  
"Works for me!" Ritchie said with a grin, throwing open the window and firing a few shots. The sound of a man's wail and the thump of something hitting the asphault was quickly followed by a barrage of bullets through the open window. Ritchie ducked down, the bullets missing him, but causing the wall behind him to erupt into a shower of plaster. Seth grabbed the couch, which moved rather easily, and pulled it toward the kitchen, as if to reinforce their protection.  
  
"You got enough ammo?" Seth called.  
  
"Good enough!" Ritchie called back, firing a few more shots. Another body. Two down, seven to go.  
  
The ram hit the door again. And again. The lock gave way and crumpled. Only the dead-bolt was left, and it wasn't giving. The door was going to have to be cracked off its hinges entirely for them to get through. It bought them time, but didn't give them an escape.  
  
Seth leapt out from behind the couch and started firing through the door, aiming for the big hole already made. He heard the grunts of men taking shots in the belly, heard swearing, heard the big thud of the ram hitting the concrete before someone picked it up again and started slamming directly on the side of the hinges, having figured out the trick.  
  
"That's three!" Ritchie called gleefully. "Let's make it five!" He fired again, this time more wildly. If any more bodies hit the ground, the sound was distorted by the other sound of running feet.  
  
"They ain't running," Seth said, hesitantly approaching the door. "They're just getting reinforcements."  
  
"Should we run?" Ritchie asked, glancing at Augusta.  
  
"You get the briefcase. Hurry."  
  
Ritchie dove into the other room, and there was the sound of shattering glass. "FUCK!" came Ritchie's panicked voice. Seth ran into the room, and the whole world erupted into gunfire.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Augusta watched as Seth ran into the other room. She stepped out from behind the table, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but unwilling to just sit by, helpless. One of the chairs from the table set had been knocked toward the door, and she picked it up, surprised to find how lightweight it was. Just then, the door was demolished, and a man stood in front of her, gun drawn.  
  
She didn't think. She swung.  
  
The gun flew across the room, knocked clean from his hand.  
  
She swung again and heard the crack of a skull. He fell backward through the door.  
  
She turned and ran to pick up the gun that had been tossed. It still had a full round of bullets in it. She headed back toward the other room, only now realizing that she wasn't bulletproof and that it was possibly the stupidest thing she could do. She stopped herself as she hit the doorway, and ducked down beside the doorjamb, almost entirely to the floor.  
  
There was more gunfire in the other room, the sounds of the boys swearing, Seth screaming, Ritchie laughing as if he were having the time of his life. Within seconds, it was over, although the echoes seemed to last so much longer. Then, to her relief, Seth came back into the room, followed by Ritchie.  
  
"Let's go," he said, then stopped to find the door crashed and a body lying in his path. He turned around, saw Augusta crouched by the door, with her gun raised.  
  
A man came flying out of the bedroom behind them, a knife drawn and raised, headed right toward Ritchie's back.  
  
She fired.  
  
The man fell dead.  
  
They all stared at each other in momentary shock, but the boys were much more used to this sort of thing. Ritchie took the suitcase and hiked over the big body blocking the door, out into the parking lot. Seth took the gun from Augusta, grabbed her by the forearm and half-carried her out the door. Ritchie had just started the car and Seth was getting Augusta into the back seat when the sirens came around the corner.  
  
"Double fuck."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny pulled up to the hotel just in time to hear the squealing of twenty sets of tires turn a gravel lot into a sandstorm. She couldn't hear shit over the loud sirens as she followed them, so the fact that she could hear the terrible grinding, a monster from a mythical poem devouring worlds, said something. A car---tan, dirty, old, the perfect kind of piece of shit for the Geckos to drive and not give a flying fuck about---tore out of the other side of the lot. Ritchie was at the wheel.  
  
She didn't know whether to chase them or call Carl. She pulled out the cel-phone almost without her own volition and hit the speed dial. She didn't know who said hello, it was just noise and the sense of a word over all the commotion.  
  
"Anchor hotel. Car chase. Going to follow. Get your asses over here." She hung up. Her foot was already revving up the bike, and she felt it slide under her, heading for the road.  
  
God, she loved letting the motor open up and chew up the concrete. It was like flying.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Usually, Seth did the driving. But in situations like this, Ritchie's near-suicidal desire to never get caught worked to his advantage.  
  
Of course, the fact that the car didn't have working seat-belts was a real problem right now. Especially for poor Augusta, who rattled around the back seat like a beach ball at a picnic. He finally felt her brace her feet against his seat and grab the one solace that the car did offer---the every- handy Oh-My-God Bar.  
  
The invention of the Oh-My-God Bar was not completely intentional. In fact, its name was never official. It was simply a given, considering it was what you screamed as you grabbed hold of it. Conveniently situated over each door of the car, it hung down just enough when grasped to give the holder a new sense of security.  
  
Augusta clung for dear life. But to her credit, she did not scream. It could have been due to the fact that all the windows on the car were down and flying dirt was everywhere around them, ready to fill their lungs. Only the acceleration of the car kept it at bay long enough for them to breathe.  
  
"Oh yeah!" Ritchie screamed as he plowed through a blockade that was not put together very well. It took a second to realize it wasn't a police blockade but a construction one, clearly signaling that the road ahead was not fit for driving.  
  
Neither one of the Geckos really cared. Seth found himself grabbing for the Oh-My-God bar as Ritchie hit a nasty turn and the back of the car temporarily slid off the road, which was made of little more than beaten down dirt and chunks of old concrete. They were repaving---lucky for them, they'd cleared enough for a car to get through without popping its tires. At the rate Ritchie was going, however, it was the axils that Seth was mainly worried about.  
  
Ritchie hadn't broken a car yet, so the worry was probably unnecessary.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny subconsciously counted the cars. There were twelve of them. There were several cops on motorcycles, not too unlike her own, and the colors were slightly different. There were two different police departments involved---no, wait those were Sheriff colors, the dull brown and tannish- gold.  
  
Somebody was looking to be a hero. These poor bastards didn't have a chance.  
  
She kept her distance just behind them. If she weaved up amongst them too much, they were going to get pissed and then she would have to deal with a charge, which wouldn't stick to a normal person in her situation, but could get her into a lot of trouble since she was still trying to keep back her criminal record.  
  
The sounds of bullets pushed her heart-rate up. She slid off to the side of the road to get a look at what was going on. Seth was sticking up from out of the passenger's side of the car, firing a few rounds towards the police. From the looks of the back of the car, he'd been fired on first. Seth wasn't stupid enough to provoke a rather large squad of police officers, especially when he clearly had the advantage with Ritchie at the wheel. One officer was hit and fell off his bike, falling hard into the grass that made up the side of the road. Xanny winced---she'd been knocked off a bike once or twice in her time, she knew it hurt pretty bad, and she was lucky to walk away with only some broken bones. Seth was a good shot. Poor bastard was probably dead.  
  
Ritchie swerved into an off-road, into some trees. It was a smart move, a lucky move, considering. The road was paved, though, and didn't give them too much of an advantage, but it did force the pursuers to bunch up and form a straighter line. Which meant her view was shot.  
  
Then another turn---this one down a much less-used road, which she hoped wasn't just an extended driveway. The officers followed, but the cars were hindered by the large branches that lay in their path. The motorbikes were able to swerve and keep pursuing, but the cars, rather new and expensive, were not quite able to keep up the chase, and a few of them were stopped by popped wheels.  
  
Now she found herself swerving through the stopped police cars. She had to keep up. No doubt Carl and Marcos would be approaching the hotel by now. There had to be some police back there, considering it was a crime scene. She had caught the smell of gunpowder in the air as she'd pulled up, which meant that Seth and Ritchie had obviously been busy before making their getaway. Whoever had been stupid enough to approach the two without the proper back-up probably deserved what they got. But then again, everyone always underestimated the white boys, she thought. Especially skinny white boys.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Augusta was going to pee her pants. She had never peed her pants before, not in her life. She'd never even wet her bed when she was a baby. Only once, at Girl Scout camp, had she had the misfortune of being in a bed with a girl who couldn't hold her bladder. It was the last time Augusta had ever shared a bed with anyone. She couldn't even tolerate sleeping with Marcos after having sex, she always went back to her own room.  
  
Her fingers were going to fall off from the grip she had on the bar over the door. Or worse, the bar was going to fall off from the constant pressure. It was bad enough that she had slammed her head a few times on the roof of the car. At this rate, she was going to at least bite off the tip of her tongue.  
  
Ritchie turned again. _He was enjoying this_! Another obscure road, this one was enough to piss Seth off.  
  
"Ritchie!" he hollered, "get back on the main road!"  
  
"Those pigs won't follow us down here, man!" Ritchie screamed back.  
  
"_Rit-CHIE_!"  
  
"All right, all right!"  
  
Another turn, this one outright vicious. The scream of horns. Swerving cars around them. They were back on the highway. Ritchie opened up the clutch and Augusta caught the flick of the speedometer as it rocketed toward the right.  
  
She'd been on rollercoasters tamer than this.  
  
The sound of sirens roared up again behind her, but they were farther back and fewer than before. Ritchie swerved through the car around them, dangerously missing a few head-on collisions. They were damn lucky they were so far out of the main city---if this had been anywhere near a bit metropolis, helicopters over head would have been following them and they would never be able to get away, no matter how many crazy turns and abandoned roads Ritchie took.  
  
"Faster, Ritchie!" Seth said, grabbing the bar above his head.  
  
Ritchie obeyed gladly. The needle went flat to the right, a perfect 90 degree angle. Augusta felt a scream tear itself from the back of her throat. The engine made a sound that could not have been healthy---engines were never supposed to be that loud. The walls around them trembled with the thunder.  
  
"This exit!" Seth screamed.  
  
Ritchie hit the brake. The car almost spun around a full 360, but somehow Ritchie managed to get on the exit. They blew through the stoplight, causing the outrage of a few innocent bystanders on their way to work, and then, without warning, Ritchie ripped through a parking lot and onto some flat land that looked like it was part of a farm. Augusta closed her eyes, expecting the car to flip over at any second. She bounced so hard her head hit the ceiling for the fourth time.  
  
And then, they stopped.  
  
She opened her eyes. It was dark around them---they'd landed on the other side of a dirt road, into the trees, tunneling back until they came to an abandoned shack, and pulled behind it. She heard the distant squeal of tires, knew they were being bypassed.  
  
It was over.  
  
Seth got out of the car. He disappeared around the corner, probably checking to make absolutely sure the coast was clear. Ritchie turned to her.  
  
"What you did back in the room," he said, softly, just getting her attention.  
  
She looked at him, her memory completely scrambled. "Back in the room?"  
  
"When you shot that guy. Who was behind me," he said.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks. That was cool of you to do."  
  
She just nodded. "No problem." 


	10. Call It Even

Ten: Call It Even  
  
As soon as Seth came back to the car, to tell them that the way was clear, he motioned for Ritchie to get out of the driver's seat. He did, sliding himself over to shotgun, as Seth got in and started the car.  
  
It was at that moment that poor Augusta just snapped.  
  
The sound of the engine, after what she'd been through in that chase, the gunshots at the hotel, her having to kill a man---all of that pressure had just been building, and for some reason, the sound of the engine just set her off.  
  
She screamed.  
  
Ritchie and Seth both ducked as if something had come flying through the back windshield. Augusta reached for the door and flung it open, stepping out into the woods, and began a frantic dance somewhere between her clothing being on fire, and her having to go to the bathroom very badly.  
  
Seth and Ritchie immediately popped out after her---half for the fact that she was temporarily insane, and half for the fact that it was not a good idea for her to be making that kind of noise after such a close call, especially when it was so quiet around here. For a second, though, they could only stare at her, completely unsure as to exactly what to do. Then she shrieked again, this time much longer, although not a loud, and definitely sounding hysterical.  
  
"Well, do something!" Ritchie snapped.  
  
Seth's nerves were entirely frayed, close to being utterly shot. He spun on Ritchie and said, "Why do I always have to do everything? Why can't you do something for a change?"  
  
Ritchie looked at him, shrugged, and pulled out his pistol. Immediately Seth came back to himself and put his hand over Ritchie's.  
  
"Nevermind, I'll handle it."  
  
He took three steps toward Augusta, who immediately spun on him and backed away, her hands flung out.  
  
"Stay away from me!" she said, her voice hardly recognizable, so high pitched and wheezing it had become. "You...you...you're both...psychos!"  
  
"Augusta, calm down."  
  
"I will not calm down!" she wrapped her arms around herself, took several more steps away, and for a moment, Seth was sure she was going to bolt for the road. The second she broke cover and hit open space, it was over, and Ritchie would shoot her whether Seth liked it or not.  
  
He moved closer, faster this time, trying to cut her off. He grabbed her by the arms, but she struggled, and they wound up spinning, spinning back through the dense foliage around them until finally Seth slammed her against the car and pinned her there.  
  
Long moments passed. Not too much time had gone by, in the big scheme of things, but it felt long enough to both of them.  
  
The pressure of Seth's hands on her forearms, the closeness of his body, the threat of his weight pressed against her, seemed to remind Augusta exactly where she was. She began to tremble, hard.  
  
"I don't want to go back in the car," she said in a whisper.  
  
"I'm sorry, baby, but you have to." His voice was almost comforting.  
  
"No."  
  
"Augusta," now he was half-pleading. "I'm driving. No more craziness, okay?"  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"For now, yes. Now get in the car."  
  
She stopped pushing against him, and he pulled away just enough to open the back door. She slipped inside, and Seth pushed the door shut. He got into the driver's seat, saw that Ritchie was already shotgun, and started the car.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny stopped the bike in the lot that the boys had crashed through. They'd broken a gate and chewed up some farm land, from the looks of it. The other cars had kept going, thinking they'd continued down the other road. The fact that there were a few cars on it ahead of them seemed to help complete the illusion that that was where Ritchie and Seth had gone. Somehow, though, she knew, they had gotten off the road.  
  
She got off the bike and hesitantly made her way toward the road. She examined the deep tire-tracks---they looked pretty ordinary, nothing in particular about them to distinguish them from other tire tracks, except the fact that they were in a set of two, while all the motorcycles that had followed only left one continuous tire-print. Then, she heard a rustle.  
  
Someone was in the bushes. His head was turned, looking down the road, but she could see the mark on his neck, even if the profile was a bit hazy at the moment.  
  
It was Seth.  
  
Xanny did the only smart thing to do. She threw herself down. The road went up a bit, causing a nice bit of bankment between them, successfully hiding her from view. She lay flat, curled herself as close to the bankment as possible, knowing she hadn't made a sound. The grass was still thick and soft, still moist with morning dew. She lay in silence.  
  
She heard footsteps, hesitant footsteps. He wouldn't dare come this far, not if he suspected for a moment that they were still being followed. She crept up the bankment just a little bit, grateful for once in her life that her hair was able to blend into her environment. Blond or red might have stuck out, but blue against green was a little harder to see.  
  
Seth had turned back into the woods. She heard a faint commotion, the sound of a woman's voice, nearly shrieking. Seth's sharp tones echoed briefly, and then it was silent. Within a few minutes, she heard a loud crunching sound, saw the car come out of the bush, and take off down the road, the other way. She watched as it went back onto the main road, took the exit, and returned to the highway, back in its original direction. In the back seat of the car, she saw a the back of a blond head. The woman turned around, looking behind them, obviously still rattled from the chase, not trusting the getaway. The cops weren't that stupid, they'd figure it out eventually, but for now they had a little time.  
  
It was Augusta. Xanny knew that face as well as her own.  
  
They were still headed west.  
  
Something vibrated in her chest pocket. She pulled out the cel-phone and opened it up. "Yeah?"  
  
"Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"  
  
"They're headed west on 70," she said. "I just saw them go. You want me to follow or do you want me to come back?"  
  
A hesitation as Carl pulled the phone away. He was asking Marcos. Then, abruptly, she heard the phone yanked away from him. Now Marcos was speaking.  
  
"Did you see her? Is she okay?"  
  
"I saw her," Xanny said. "She's alive. I don't know much else. Do you want me to follow?"  
  
"Yes, follow," Marcos said, a little breathless. "Call again in a few hours, we'll come find you."  
  
The phone was yanked out of his hand. She heard his outraged growl, but then Carl was there. "I'll call you when we have something from here," Carl said. "They left some bodies behind. There was a break-in to their hotel room, some serious shooting. I'll put together what I can and then call you, okay? You still have your phone on vibrate?"  
  
"It's never on anything else," she said, and then hung up. She got to her feet and walked back to the bike, which she had hidden next to the building in the parking lot. Someone inside the building came out and yelled at her, but she ignored them as she took off again, heading west on the highway.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
When Carl and Marcos had pulled up to the hotel, they hadn't been quite sure what to expect. There were a few police officers around, marking the scene, and ambulances and paramedics everywhere, but nobody was being moved.  
  
The obvious reason being, everyone was dead.  
  
Carl got out of the car, Marcos at his heels. "You'd better stay behind me," Carl said. "I don't care how rich you are, they won't tolerate you on a crime scene."  
  
"What about you?" Marcos asked.  
  
"They'll tolerate me only a little bit more," he said. "Don't help me, it'll go better."  
  
"Another fuckin' detective?" came the testy answer from Detective Wayne, who had remained in the scene. His reply, when asked, was, "I'm too fuckin' old to be chasing after criminals. Let the little boys do that, who got the energy." He was busy examining things, aside from the obvious, like the bodies.  
  
"Yes, sir, I work for Marcos Ferarre." Carl shot a sideglance at Marcos, deciding not to introduce him, figuring a more imposing, distant figure would be much more intimidating than a life-sized guy dressed in street clothes. Marcos, to his credit, seemed to pick up the hint and kept back. "The woman you met before is my assistant. Very competent assistant-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, she went chasing those guys half-ass across the countryside," Detective Wayne grumbled. "Glad to see you have more sense. Look, just don't touch anything. I'll give you what information I can about Miss Baxton, but I can't give you any vital information about this case."  
  
"That's fine," Carl said, looking around the hotel room as he was carefully escorted inside. The door had been nearly knocked off its hinges and blasted clean through by several bullets, both from inside and outside. The couch and table were dragged toward the kitchen area, both on their sides, where they were clearly supposed to be some kind of barricade. While a few bodies had been found outside, most of them were inside, and while one or two lay in the first part of the hotel room, the real massacre had taken place in the bedroom.  
  
They had come in through the large window, Carl could easily see. There were imprints on the bed closest to it, where feet had obviously trampled the bedspread, and the indent from where someone had slept earlier still remained, although faint in the folds of fabric. The other bed was missing its bedspread and second blanket entirely---the bedspread was on the floor, bundled in a heap, and the blanket-  
  
Carl followed the trail back, careful to obey orders and not touch a single thing.  
  
The blanket was in the other room, on the floor, behind the couch. It had been tossed there when the couch was moved. Which meant the blanket had been sitting on the couch. Had Augusta been sleeping on the couch? Carl moved to see if he could see some a trace of her---some of her blonde hair was most likely---when two glinting golden strands caught the light, wedged between the last cushion and the arm of the couch. It looked like it had been caught there...  
  
Some scent caught his nose. It was a smell all men were familiar with, instantly. Carl looked down the length of the couch. There were at least three or four smears there, milky-white, already dried.  
  
Sperm.  
  
Carl stood up. He glanced toward Marcos, who was waiting outside, although he looked desperately like he wanted to come inside. He was pacing back and forth lightly, his eyes never leaving the open door. He barely glanced at the dead bodies that weren't too far from him.  
  
There was sperm on the couch, where Augusta had slept. Which one of them did she have sex with? It was unlikely that it was Ritchie, since she was obviously still alive, and there was no trace of violence done to her.  
  
"You saw that, huh?" grumbled Wayne from in the kitchen area. "I sure wouldn't wanna be you when I told Mr. Ferarre that."  
  
"Can you tell which man it belongs to?" Carl asked.  
  
Wayne shrugged. "We could, but I doubt it's necessary. They'll scoop it up because its evidence that they were here, but I doubt it'll make it into the report."  
  
"That's not really my concern," Carl said, but Wayne barely heard him because he was reaching for something behind the overturned table.  
  
"Found these," Wayne said, lifting up a couple of golden hairs. "Wrapped around a table leg. One of the guns is missing from one of the bodies---I'm sure each and every one of them had a gun before they came charging in here. And from the angle of the bullet that hit that guy? Well, I don't want to jump to any conclusions..."  
  
"But you already have," Carl said. "So have I. She shot him, didn't she?"  
  
Wayne shrugged. "Nothing's official. And I ain't saying nothing about the case. All I know is Augusta is still alive, and she sure ain't here now, but she definitely was. There were more hairs in the shower---I'm going to assume that meant she used it, too."  
  
"Well, at least they're taking decent care of her," Carl muttered sarcastically. "Thanks, Detective Wayne."  
  
Wayne just shrugged. He really didn't care one way or another.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny watched them pull off at an exit for a town called Castleton. She kept going, not wanting them to think she was following, found the nearest place to turn around, and came back. She quickly saw their car in a parking lot for a Dollar Inn. She pulled into the McDonald's across the way and went inside, watching the hotel from the window. She ordered a gallon of Coke and sat down, pulling out her cel-phone.  
  
"Yeah?" Carl said.  
  
"Dollar Inn, in Castleton," she said. "What do you want me to do now?"  
  
There was some heavy consideration. "How long did it take?"  
  
"About ninety minutes. You want me to come back?"  
  
"No, stay there. They should be there the night, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We'll come to you. Where are you?"  
  
"At the McDonald's across the way. Who was left behind at the hotel?"  
  
"A bunch of dead bodies, and your friend Detective Wayne."  
  
"Marcos with you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So we can't talk."  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Look, Carl, I feel a little funny about this. Shouldn't we tell the police that they're here? I mean, if they're properly coordinated, they could surround and trap both of the Geckos. I can get Augusta out quietly, she won't be hurt."  
  
She heard Carl's smile. "Don't play hero, Xanny. It's too dangerous. We have to make sure that there won't be any more casualties. From what I'm looking at here, these Gecko boys don't play nice."  
  
"I told you that already. But they are just two boys. Enough police and we can overwhelm them."  
  
"Can we? Think about it, Xanny. How have they stayed free for so long?"  
  
She considered it. From her time with them, she knew that they were very good at busting their way out of bad situations, because they simply didn't care who got hurt in the process. They did whatever it took. The only way to bring them in was to trip them up. Which meant they had to work slowly.  
  
"So what do you propose?"  
  
"I'll give it some thought. Meantime, we're on our way to meet you."  
  
"Fine." He hung up, she slapped her phone shut. Her stomach grumbled-- -French fries sounded really good right now.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
The trip to Castleton had been done in silence. Seth commented about a biker behind them once or twice, but it had disappeared when they went down the exit ramp. They checked into the hotel, went into their room, and life went on as usual.  
  
For Seth and Ritchie, at least. Augusta felt totally numb. The second she got inside, she laid down on one of the queen-size beds, and went to sleep.  
  
When she woke up, it was dark outside. Seth and Ritchie were talking, had probably been talking for a while now. Then, Seth came around the side of the bed and saw that she was awake.  
  
"Feeling better?" he asked.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"No more fits?"  
  
Her cheeks turned dark red. "I don't know what came over me."  
  
Seth shrugged. "Shock. It's a weird thing. I'm glad it worked out this time, but God forbid you should do something stupid like that in public."  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, a little tense. "I wasn't exactly in my right mind."  
  
"I know," he said, then paused. "Come with me," motioning toward the door. "We're going to get dinner."  
  
"What about Ritchie?" she asked, pulling herself upright.  
  
"We'll bring him something back," Seth said, nonchalant.  
  
"And it's safe to go out, after what happened earlier?"  
  
"It's never safe. We'll be careful," he said. "Go somewhere small."  
  
Small, was the tiny hotel diner. It wasn't really attached to the hotel, but it was a walk across the hotel lot, and other people staying at the hotel were eating there, so it qualified. They got a seat, flipped through the menus, and Augusta decided she wasn't all that hungry, so she planned on just a salad. Until the waitress walked by with a tray of food and her stomach told her she was much hungrier than she thought, so she went with a salad with chicken on it. Lots of chicken. And rolls. She had a taste for rolls and butter.  
  
Seth ordered a steak, rare. He stole a glance at her, and she had the most bizarre inkling that she was supposed to be impressed by his desire to eat nearly-raw meat. And a chocolate milkshake.  
  
"So am I supposed to be Uma Thurman?" she asked wryly when the waitress walked away.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Haven't seen Pulp Fiction?"  
  
"I don't really get to the movies that often," he said. "All that action and violence ...I get enough of that from work."  
  
She chuckled, sipped her water. He leaned forward, folded his fingers together, stared down at them. She could hear him thinking of the next thing to say to her. But instead, when he next looked at her, he just looked at her, and nothing else.  
  
She sighed deeply when a few minutes had passed. "Is that what this is going to be about now? You staring at me all the time?"  
  
"I don't stare all the time."  
  
"You looked at me enough times in the rearview mirror today, I'm surprised you even saw the road ahead of you."  
  
"Funny."  
  
"I'm not trying to be. Seth, look-"  
  
He held up a hand between them. "Don't."  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"Don't give me a speech. I know you think last night was a mistake."  
  
"It was," she said, very softly.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, it was. But..." he sighed. Looked at her. "Oh, hell, fuck if I know," he grumbled, sitting back.  
  
She smiled. "Sweet talker. Look, don't think you've got feelings for me just because I was a good lay, Seth. Don't put yourself under that kind of pressure. It was a chemical reaction, nothing more or less. I'm not blowing you off. You're not blowing me off. We'll just call it even and go from here."  
  
He nodded. "Fine. If that's what you want." He was silent for a moment more, and then said, "I think it's time we made that call to your fiancée."  
  
She nodded. "I understand." She sighed, looked to the kitchen, and said, "Seth, I've got to go to the bathroom."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow, then stood up. The waitress was approaching with their drinks. "We're still here," he told the older woman, "but we gotta run to the back for a minute. Hold our spot?"  
  
"No problem," the waitress replied, and Seth motioned for Augusta to walk in front of him.  
  
"All this and you still don't trust me?" she hissed as they entered the dimmed hallway.  
  
"I don't trust anybody," Seth said. "Sometimes not even Ritchie, but don't ever tell him I told you that." He pushed open the bathroom door to the ladies room. "You've got five minutes."  
  
She shot him a look and walked into the bathroom. There was one stall open, and she went inside.  
  
The second her hand pushed the door completely open, she saw someone squatting on the toilet. Before her eyes could identify the person as a man or a woman, the person had reached out, grabbed her arm and yanked her into the stall. She let out a shriek, and a hand covered her mouth, then the other arm spun her around. To her amazement, a foot extended and slammed the door shut behind her.  
  
And then, Augusta's vision cleared, and she saw her own face staring back at her, framed by blue hair. The hand pulled away.  
  
"Xanny," Augusta breathed.  
  
"Augusta," Xanny replied. "Nice to meet you." 


	11. Jealous

Disclaimer: Same as always  
  
A/N: I'm trying to get this story done quickly while the inspiration flows. I hope it doesn't fade before we get to the good stuff. And I suspect it's only about half-done, maybe a little more.  
  
Eleven: Jealous  
  
When Carl and Marcos arrived, she'd already gone through a few Big Macs. They suggested finding a hotel close to the Dollar Inn, get a room so they could watch the parking lot. As soon as they were in private, Marcos began to rant about how they should call the police, and both Xanny and Carl had to go through all the reasons why that was a bad idea. They had to be more subtle to get Augusta away.  
  
Then Marcos' cel-phone rang. Luckily, the room was a suite, so he could go into the bedroom for some privacy. As soon as he was behind a closed door, Xanny leaned toward Carl.  
  
"What couldn't you tell me before?"  
  
"You aren't going to like it," Carl said.  
  
"Why not? This is a case, Carl, not a personal-"  
  
"Augusta is sleeping with one of the Geckos."  
  
She stopped, her mouth half-open. "You are shitting me," she said when her voice returned.  
  
"Would I shit a turd like you?" he asked. "There was sperm all over the couch."  
  
"All over?"  
  
"All over. Whatever they were doing I doubt sleeping had a lot to do with it."  
  
"That's ridiculous," Xanny said with a shake of her head. "How do you know it's her? I mean, neither Seth nor Ritchie are above sleeping with a prostitute. Maybe she just left before the action started."  
  
"A prostitute with pale blonde hair?"  
  
"It's possible."  
  
"You're jealous."  
  
"That's not possible."  
  
"Well, it's also not possible that she was sleeping with Ritchie. She's still alive."  
  
Xanny pulled away, steaming. She didn't know who to be angrier at, Seth for doing something like that, or Augusta for being stupid enough to go along with it. And she'd pegged her twin sister for having a brain!  
  
"You sure you're not jealous?" Carl asked, a tone of seriousness in his voice.  
  
"That's just stupid!" Xanny snapped. "Why would they do that? There's no reason to do something like that! It just makes everything so much more complicated. He has to know by now that she isn't me."  
  
"Maybe that's WHY he slept with her."  
  
She glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I don't know, I'm talking out my ass."  
  
"At least you admit it." Xanny got up and went to the window. She'd shed the leather jacket and had on only a thin black shirt underneath. The evening was getting cooler and she was starting to get a chill.  
  
"Does Marcos know?" Xanny asked suddenly.  
  
"I didn't tell him. I figured it was for her to do."  
  
"Good move. Bloody hell."  
  
"Any suggestions on how to trip them up?" Carl asked, a vain attempt at a subject switch.  
  
"Depends on your ideas," she said.  
  
"I need to think about it a little more," he said. "I should have something solid by tonight."  
  
"Okay." A pause. "Carl, I think I want to try and make contact with her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Augusta."  
  
He blinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
"I think she needs to be reminded of the situation that she's in."  
  
Carl stood up. "Xanny, that's a bad idea. You could blow this whole operation."  
  
She turned to him. "Don't you trust me, Carl?"  
  
"I trust you usually. But I think this new development has rattled your brain."  
  
"It's not because of that, Carl. Well, it is because of that, but it's not a jealousy thing. We have to know where Augusta stands. If she doesn't want to be rescued, we may as well just call the police and go home."  
  
Carl stared at her, then sighed deeply. "Okay, fine. What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to sit here and wait for them to come out. See that restaurant?" She pointed across the parking lot. "It's close. Seth won't be able to resist. He's been eating junk food for a few days now and it's getting to him. I checked their menu---they serve steak. He'll want to go eat. Maybe Ritchie will go with him. That will leave Augusta alone."  
  
"What if she goes with them?"  
  
"Doesn't matter. Either way, I'll get a chance to talk to her." She sat down in a chair, which she had to pull closer to the window. "We just have to wait."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
And so Xanny waited. And waited. Finally, just after dark completely came, she saw two figures come out of the room. The spot of bright gold had to be Augusta, and the tall dark stick was obviously Seth. Ritchie was not with them. Xanny had been trying not to think, the entire time she'd been watching, but now, the curiosity was sparked and she couldn't put the flame out.  
  
Ritchie wasn't going with them. So maybe they still thought Augusta was Xanny. Or at least, Ritchie did. Seth obviously wasn't telling, if he knew. Then again, why was she so obsessed about the idea of their mistaking Augusta's identity?  
  
Was Carl right? Was she jealous?  
  
She waited for them to disappear inside the diner. Then, she carefully made her way across the street, noting where they were sitting through the large glass windows. Seth was facing the door---that was totally like him. This was going to be a problem.  
  
She avoided the lit parking lot, in case he should look outside, but no, his eyes kept traveling to the door. He was a lot more in focus this time, than when she'd seen him coming out of the woods. She went around the building, saw a window. A rather large window. When she pulled herself up, she saw it lead into a bathroom. No urinals, it had to be a ladies room. She slid the window open---the assistance of a large, broken branch was necessary, as the window obviously had not been opened in a good while and was partly rusted closed. She managed to get it wide enough to slip herself through.  
  
The bathroom was empty. She pulled the window shut behind her with nearly as much effort. Just as it was about to close, she heard a snap. Something had caught in the sill, and push as she might, she couldn't get the window back open again.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
There was someone coming in to the bathroom. Xanny went over to the sink, casually washed her hands of the dirt and grime from her climb. A woman came in, used the bathroom, and Xanny took the moment to slip her head out the window, see what she could see.  
  
The woman flushed, came out, gave her an odd look. Washed her hands, left. Xanny washed her hands again during it all, primped herself in the mirror, anything to look normal. Obviously the woman had better things to do because she left without comment. Xanny stuck her head out the door again.  
  
Augusta was coming around the corner. Xanny backed away, pulled the other two bathroom stall doors shut, and slid into the third one, hitching herself up with both feet on the toilet. She put up the seat, knowing that the porcelain rim was a lot more level than the plastic covering. She pulled the door open as wide as she could without exposing herself, knowing psychologically people always went for the first open door. The door opened, Augusta walked in---at least, she hoped it was Augusta.  
  
Xanny waited. The woman strode right toward the stall. The second she pushed the door all the way open, Xanny grabbed her arm and yanked. Balancing herself on one foot, she slammed the stall shut with the other, using her arms to stifle Augusta's startled shriek, as well as turn her around so she could see who she was being kidnapped by.  
  
"Xanny," Augusta breathed.  
  
"Augusta," Xanny replied. "Nice to meet you."  
  
Then the door to the ladies room came open again, this time with a bang. Augusta whirled around, merely by instinct. Seth's voice flooded over them.  
  
"Augusta? You okay?"  
  
The sound of his voice...she hadn't heard it in years. Xanny closed her eyes, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. She did not still have feelings for Seth...and if she did, who in the hell could blame her? But she was not jealous.  
  
"Fine," Augusta said, sounding absolutely normal. "I just thought I saw a rat, that's all."  
  
"Oh." He sounded skeptical, but they could both hear him withdrawing. "All right. Hurry up, five minutes."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Augusta said, this time not having to force the frustration into her voice. She looked over her shoulder at Xanny. "So, are you here to rescue me?" she whispered.  
  
Xanny nearly scowled at her. "Depends. Do you want to be rescued?"  
  
"I'm dying to know how you knew where we were holed up, but I don't think I have enough time to hear the story. Are you one of the good guys or bad guys?"  
  
"Good guys." Xanny drew a breath. "Did your Aunt Anette ever tell you a story about a missing twin?"  
  
Augusta scowled. She'd heard the story a dozen times growing up, but once her parents had died, all talk of it had died as well. Then, as she looked into Xanny's face, she suddenly knew---intuition told her she was looking at her twin.  
  
"Wow," Augusta said. Xanny nodded, as if reading her mind.  
  
"Pretty wild, huh? But no, I can't exactly rescue you, yet. I'm working for your fiancée, Marcos Ferarre." There was a twisted look on Xanny's face. "Anything you want me to tell him for you?"  
  
The guilt tinted her cheeks pink. "Don't tell him," she whispered. "How did you know?"  
  
"There are stains on the couch, according to the police detectives. But nobody has told Marcos yet."  
  
"Marcos? He lets you call him by his first name?"  
  
"I know, it's a privilege. Listen, you can't tell Seth you and I met here."  
  
"Oh, hell, you think? I'd be in as much trouble as you."  
  
"How good of an actress are you?"  
  
"Better at some times than others."  
  
"Yeah, I heard your fit in the woods earlier today."  
  
Another blush. "You heard that?"  
  
"Same thing happened to me after my first time with Ritchie at the wheel. Although I'll admit the circumstances were a little different."  
  
"He knows I'm not you."  
  
Xanny cocked an eyebrow. "We doing a mind-reading thing now?"  
  
"Aren't twins supposed to be psychic?" Augusta gave her a little smile. Xanny couldn't help but smile back. She had just met the woman, and it was like they'd known each other all their lives.  
  
"Listen," Augusta said, "I really do have to pee."  
  
Xanny gingerly stepped off the toilet and put the seat down. "If Seth comes back in, I'm going to have to stand on you," Xanny warned her. "Make it fast."  
  
"So why are you here, if not to rescue me?" Augusta asked, as she did as nature intended.  
  
"To make sure things are okay. So it was Seth you slept with, then?"  
  
"Yeah." A distinctly guilty look. "I'm sorry about that, I don't know what came over me."  
  
"Well, I do." A quirky grin, which Augusta actually returned. "Keep playing along. Seth likes to make friends with his hostages, it makes them more manageable. Although I'd say you're a little past friends...just don't piss him off."  
  
"I figured that," Augusta said as she flushed. Xanny returned to her perch on the porcelain lip. "So what are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to report back to my boss, let him know you're okay and relatively undamaged. You're going to go back out there and make like nothing has happened. Just keep an eye out for me---I'll be around."  
  
Augusta nodded, a bit confused. "All right." She slipped out of the stall. "Nice meeting you," she whispered.  
  
Xanny couldn't help but grin as Augusta went back outside, and heard Seth say, "Any more rats?"  
  
"Not a one," Augusta replied.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Xanny slipped out the back door of the restaurant, unnoticed by any of the patrons, and only by a few of the staff, who really could have cared less. This place was run by the bored and the doomed, people whose existence had been tragically altered by the fact that they were in a low economic grouping. Xanny watched their faces as she walked by, feeling rather fortunate. She was nearly one of them, except for Carl's mercy. She reminded herself to thank him, later.  
  
As she returned to her hotel room, new thoughts began to sparkle up inside of her. What was going to happen when all of this was over? Was she going to live in that big mansion with her twin sister and her handsome husband? Was she going to be rich now? Did she even need to work for Carl anymore? The thought of leaving the man was a bit depressing. For all his sometimes-sleazy appearance and trains of thought, the man had the kind of genuineness that was rarely found in people, a rockbed of honesty in his chest that she'd been leaning on for a while. He was practically the closest thing she had to family---and now all of that was changing.  
  
She slipped inside the room. Marcos was sitting on the couch, looking for all the world as if he were sulking. She pulled off her leather jacket, put it on the back of a nearby chair. "Where's Carl?" she asked.  
  
"Taking a nap," Marcos grumbled.  
  
Xanny sat down next to him. "You okay?"  
  
He let out a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have come."  
  
"What makes you say that? Not that I don't agree with you, I just want to know what tipped you off." She smoothed the words over with a smile, but it didn't work. Marcos shook his head, doubly melancholy.  
  
"I'm not any use to you two. You're doing your jobs and I'm a dragging ball and chain." Then he looked pained. "Besides, I'm not even sure Augusta wants us to rescue her."  
  
Almost subconsciously, Xanny patted down her sides, a brief gesture. Surely he hadn't planted one of those disposable listening devices on her? "What in the world would make you say that?"  
  
Marcos sighed deeply again, looked away. It was a long time before he spoke again, but Xanny waited, her patience having been perfected over years in a prison cell. "You know, I've known Xanny for six, almost seven years. We've been engaged for the last two. And sometimes, I just don't think I know a thing about her."  
  
Xanny considered his words. "Marcos," she said, gently, "you know, I know a thing or two about psychology, even though I never went to school. In jail, reading is one of the few luxuries you really have. And you could just be feeling really out of your element. I mean, this isn't a business deal or a negotiation---not yet, anyway---and you are awfully close to the situation. You could just be seeing things in a distorted way."  
  
He turned and looked at her. "I feel like I know more about you than I know about her."  
  
Xanny shrugged, smiled. "I'm an open book," she said. "Not much effort in that."  
  
"I know you like to ride motorcycles," Marcos went on, a slightly distant look on his face, even as his eyes stayed on hers. "I know that you like to change your hair color regularly. I know that you went through a deep, personal conversion, I don't know how spiritual, but you made a major change in your life, and yet somehow you still managed to stay yourself. I know you're strong. And I know that you like to scramble your ham and eggs together for breakfast."  
  
They both chuckled. Xanny patted his arm, casually. "Don't get yourself all upset about this, Marcos. You're partly transferring, since I look so much like Augusta. When this is all over, things will go back to normal. Or at least close to it. Really, I promise."  
  
He sighed, troubled again. He looked away, back at her, a nervous gesture. He was a far cry from the sophisticated man she'd met in his office a few days ago. She wondered if she liked him better like this---vulnerable. Seth had never allowed himself to be vulnerable, even when he was intimate.  
  
"I love how honest you are," Marcos said. "How realistic. I like how you act like everything is under control, even if it isn't." He gave her a little smile. "I guess I've known so many control freaks in my life, it's nice to meet someone who isn't."  
  
"Is Augusta a control freak?" Xanny asked.  
  
Marcos shrugged. "Sometimes, about some things. She puts up such a front---always acting a part, I don't know when she drops it sometimes. I mean it, Xanny. I honestly feel like she's this entire other person that I don't know. And that entire other person is the girl that the Geckos are keeping hostage right now."  
  
He was obsessing on the fact that Augusta was with the Geckos. Changing the subject would not work. Xanny searched her mind for a way to distract him, came up with nothing.  
  
"Would you tell me..." he began, then trailed off, as if he knew what he was about to ask was not appropriate.  
  
"Tell you what?" she prompted.  
  
"I don't want to invade your privacy."  
  
Xanny smirked. "If all goes well, Marcos, I'm going to become your sister-in-law. We shouldn't have any secrets. Go ahead, ask me. The worst I can say is that I won't tell you."  
  
He still seemed reluctant. "How long did were you and Seth...together?"  
  
"Officially? About six years. He'd just gotten out of an ugly divorce, was seriously on the rebound, really starting to make his name as a thief. I guess I was good therapy for a while---I had no self-respect then, I was just floating from one little con to another, scraping by. He was...exciting. I got caught up. For a while, it was just a physical relationship, with business on the side. Then we started to get attached to each other and became a more permanent thing. But he made it very clear he wasn't ever going to marry me. I was fine with that, I just wanted to stay with him." She paused. "It was a lot of mindgames, during those six years. It was really bad toward the end. I sometimes worry that's the reason I got out, because I was just so pissed."  
  
"So you hate him?"  
  
"No," she said softly. "I knew him too well to hate him. I understood him, even better after we separated. He just is who he is. Although he chooses a lot of it, embraces it, relishes it at times. He always has to have his 'shit together,' as he would say. Always. I guess if I'd been married to his wife, I'd feel the same." She shrugged. "Mostly I just feel sorry for him."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because he's stuck with his own misery and he can't see it," Xanny replied. "I mean, he's in total denial about Ritchie, and the man is the only family he has. One day that's going to go all to hell and I definitely am glad I won't be around to see it. When that happens...I don't know. Either Seth will snap, or he'll realize that he can change. Like I did." She gave him a little smile.  
  
"Were you really so evil?" Marcos asked, turning to her. Now that the subject had transitioned to her, he seemed a little less tense. She decided to let it continue.  
  
"I was angry," she said. "I don't think I was malicious. I was just...empty. I had nothing inside, all the devils had their way with me. But don't be fooled for a minute---I can hold my own in a fight. In fact, I think prison toughened me up more than running with the Geckos. Seth was always doing the fighting when I was with them, and in prison I had to defend myself. I'm much better at it now."  
  
"I'd like to know...will you tell me...what happened, the day you two parted ways?"  
  
"It's a long story. You sure you wanna hear it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Truth is a lot strange than fiction, I'm warning you," she added.  
  
"Xanny," Marcos said with a smiling that was actually admiring, "anyone who knows herself as well as you do, I'd listen to you talk all night." 


	12. Separate Ways

Twelve: Separate Ways  
  
"We were in the midst of a heist---Seth and Ritchie had just taken to starting to rob banks. Before that, Seth was trying his hand at being a cat burglar, but it wasn't working out too well. He didn't really have the sophistication. Then they were knocking over convenience stores and liquor stores and even fast food restaurants, and then they were breaking into ATM machines, but nothing gave the same rush as holding up a bank. I was the bait, the one who went into the bank, looking rather normal and pretty and distracting the bank officers. Then Seth and Ritchie would step in and all hell would break loose. I even shot a bank officer once or twice in my time, but I never tried to kill them. Seth always told me I was too soft, but he didn't seem to care too much so I didn't push my luck.  
  
"Anyway, the problem with holding up banks was always the getaway. As soon as you left, they were chasing your ass up the street. So Seth got the idea of taking a hostage. The first few times, it went off without a hitch---we kicked him or her out somewhere on the street and took off. No one followed us because Seth threatened to shoot the hostage if he saw a single siren on his tail. But it got more and more complicated and we were keeping the hostages for longer and longer. And Ritchie---well, I had an idea at the time that he was up to something on the side, but I didn't know what it was. He'd been charged with sex offence way back in high school, and he was pretty good at hiding his continued activities from Seth. Usually it was either prostitutes or women who were unlucky enough to be walking down the street in his vicinity at too late of an hour.  
  
"So we started keeping hostages for longer and longer. The police were getting hungrier and hungrier to catch us, and we'd been in more than a few shootouts. The hostages turned out to be extra insurance in case the cops showed up, kept us from getting killed. Well, one time, my last time with them, we had this woman. Her name was Rebecca. She was like one of those soccer moms, very normal looking, JC Penny's casual wear, graying hair, one of those big handbags full of stuff. We stole her SUV in the getaway and she was still inside it, so Seth said we were going to take her.  
  
"We holed up in this hotel, it was called Avalanche Inn, sort of run down, like most places. Seth wanted to unload the SUV as soon as possible, so he took off with it to trade it in with a friend he knew, who was pretty good at fencing stolen cars, breaking them into little pieces and selling the parts. While we were waiting for him to come back, I got to know Rebecca a little bit. She claimed to have a headache. She said she had a heart condition, that sometimes she got blood clots, and that she was on a regular dose of aspirin. So I thought it would be a good idea to get her some aspiring in case she had any problems, as I didn't want he to die on us. Ritchie refused to go. We didn't get along too well and he wasn't going to do anything I suggested, so it was a lost cause. So I went to the main office and asked them if they had any aspiring for sale. I wound up on a bit of a chase, finally wound up walking down the road to a gas station that had like one bottle left. I kept thinking how lucky I was. I was actually proud of myself, like I'd done a little good deed. I was amazed at how it felt. It was such a stupid little thing, and yet it was something important to someone."  
  
Then Xanny paused. Marcos could tell from the look on her face that the next part was extremely painful to remember.  
  
"When I got back, Ritchie had been..." She turned white, then green. The memory was still sickening, even after all these years. "There was blood everywhere." She sighed deeply, pulling herself together. "I was so upset. I started screaming at Ritchie, and he threatened to shoot me, too, and I remember I punched him in the nose, nearly broke it. I knew how upset Seth was going to be when he came back, so we cleaned it up, and Ritchie told him the hostage got away. Seth was so pissed...I don't think I've ever seen him that pissed. He made us move right then, drive two or three hours over to the next town so the woman couldn't lead the police back to us. I didn't tell Seth the truth until about four in the morning, when my watch was over and his watch started. And he didn't believe me. He said I was trying to cover for screwing up, trying to blame Ritchie. I was so mad at him, even a few days later, when he tried to get all amorous with me, I wouldn't let him touch me.  
  
"I kept that woman's bag---no one saw me do it, and it was easy. I remember the first night, during my watch, looking through her stuff...at the pictures of her kids...and how their mother wasn't going to ever come home again, wasn't going to be able to take them anywhere, see their dance recitals, cheer at their football games. And I started to cry so hard I had to stop myself by smothering my face in a pillow before I woke the boys up."  
  
She took another breath, her throat closing with the emotion of the memory. "I don't know why I cared so much, you know? I mean, I knew nothing about a normal childhood. I think it was that one of her daughters, the oldest one, was named Alexandra. There was a high school picture in her wallet. The nickname 'Xanny' was written on the back. It's the only time in my life I've ever seen anybody with that nickname other than me. It just all sort of hit me at once.  
  
"When we moved on, things weren't the same. Seth was mad at me all the time because I wouldn't talk to them, either one of them, and I kept sneaking away every chance I got. He even thought I'd called the police on them."  
  
"Did you?" Marcos whispered.  
  
She took a deep breath, shuddered. "Yes. But it wasn't like Seth to think that sort of thing of me. It wasn't like me. He'd always trusted me and I'd always kept that trust. And then all of a sudden, Ritchie goes and fucks up and it's me he blames. We got cornered in a hotel room, Seth and Ritchie had made an escape route out on the roof and over into the woods, because the hotel walls weren't very thick and the ceiling was even worse. But I stayed."  
  
"God, how Seth looked at me! He was all calm at first, telling me I was being ridiculous, that of course I was going, that he wasn't that mad at me, that it was okay that I'd lost a hostage, it happened to all newbies, etc. etc. He did everything he could to get me to climb up on that roof, and I wouldn't go. I told him to take the money, that we were even, I even swore I hadn't called the police, but I was staying, so that they could get away. He said that wasn't good enough. He even tried to drag me out with them, but I pulled a gun on him. He didn't buy it, so I threw down the gun and ran out the door. I barely kept from getting shot, but the police arrested me, and in the confusion Seth and Ritchie were able to get away."  
  
She stopped. There was a heavy silence.  
  
"I kept her pictures," she whispered. "Rebecca's pictures. In my jacket pocket. Every now and again, when I'm tempted back into my old life, I look at them." She paused, looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed, tired tears. "Want to see?"  
  
"I'd love to," he said.  
  
After she showed him, he held her as she cried.  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
Augusta couldn't sleep---probably because of that huge nap she'd taken earlier. But her brain kept spinning over and over her conversation with Xanny.  
  
Alexandra Wallace.  
  
Her twin sister.  
  
God, it was amazing. She'd never in her whole life told anyone about that missing twin thing. She sometimes had thought her parents were crazy for believing the whole thing, it sounded like a made-up story. The feature on Unsolved Mysteries only made it more corney. And when Mom and Dad had died, it made no difference to anyone, anymore.  
  
It just went to prove that when you least expect it, the weirdest things can happen. The weirdest of all, being, that she was actually happy.  
  
She wasn't just happy. She was thrilled.  
  
The image of the blue-haired woman, balancing herself in that bathroom stall, dressed in black leather like a biker, looking as tough as...well, tougher than anything Augusta had ever seen with her own two eyes, was like some kind of fantasy. She kept going over and over it in her mind to make sure it had been real. Yes, it had been. Xanny was real. And she was following her, trying to save her.  
  
Of course, Xanny had seen right through her. Which was all the more impressive. No one had ever seen through her. She'd been hiding things all her life, first from her parents, then from Aunt Anette, and finally from Marcos, who was supposed to be the love of her life. Maybe at one time he had been. She was rather impressed that he'd gone to such lengths to get her back. She even entertained the silly little fantasy that maybe he was even traveling with them, waiting with them for the right opportunity.  
  
She turned over, as much to shake her thoughts of him as her guilt. She found herself facing Seth, who was sitting on her bed, legs stretched out before him, watching her. She jumped a little, causing a vibration in the mattress.  
  
"I thought you were awake," he said, his voice a murmur.  
  
She lifted her head, only a little. "What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
He didn't answer. She sighed deeply, put her head back down, shut her eyes. What in the hell had she done to herself? Was this never going to be over? And worst of all, did she want it to be?  
  
Finally, his voice came at her again, still the same, low, growling tone. From in the back of his throat, where all his passion seemed to live, just waiting for him to shout it out. "I don't buy what you said before."  
  
It would be silly to pretend to think about what he meant---she already knew. "Seth," she whispered, "don't you think it's a little wrong to get all involved with your hostage? I was trying to let you off the hook---I suggest you take the opportunity."  
  
He looked away from her, stung. She was right, he knew she was right, she could read it in the lines of his face. "I know, it goes against every instinct I have," he admitted, recovering. "But things like this...no one can predict when they're going to happen, or how."  
  
Pressing her cheek harder into the pillow, just to make sure her voice, which felt like it was going to come out of her very loudly, wouldn't wake Ritchie---that was that last thing she needed---she said, "Don't do this, Seth."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it's stupid, and it's wrong. It's a mistake and you can't make a mistake like this, not and keep your neck out of a noose. Or however they're executing murderers these days."  
  
He flinched. He didn't like that word, but knew it was the truth. Sure, he thought of it only as killing out of necessity, but in the process of breaking the law, it was very thin moral ice. Or just extremely cold water.  
  
"It's just because of Xanny," she whispered, a bit more soothing.  
  
He shook his head. "It's not because of Xanny." He looked at her, his dark eyes glowing at her with the reflecting streetlights outside. His arms were folded tightly around his chest, keeping himself from moving closer to her, but she could feel the intensity radiating from him like heat waves. "It's you."  
  
"You don't know me," she said.  
  
"We had this conversation before, didn't we?" He was almost smiling. "Or maybe I just had it with myself in my head. But you know that isn't true. I probably know you better than anyone ever has."  
  
It was her turn to flinch. That was true---insane, but true.  
  
"You can't hide things from me. You've been hiding everything from everyone all your life."  
  
"Have you ever asked yourself why?" she said, a bit harshly.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Because no one cares about a little rich bitch, what she does or what she thinks. No one thinks we're good for anything but shopping and getting our hair done. So I decided a long time ago that I didn't care what anyone thought, and wasn't going to give anyone the opportunity to make me."  
  
"Even your own family?"  
  
She snorted. "Aunt Anette has rose-colored glasses when it comes to me. Nothing I say or do would change how much she adores me, plus she needs my money to keep living comfortably. And my parents?" Suddenly, her throat started to close. "My parents are dead."  
  
There was a heavy silence. "Mine, too."  
  
"So you know what I'm talking about."  
  
"Sort of...I don't think I had quite the relationship with mine that you might have had with yours."  
  
"My parents were sort of obsessed with finding my long lost twin." Then she bit her  
  
tongue, realizing she'd said too much. Seth's eyes widened.  
  
"Twin?"  
  
"Long story."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"No. I don't like to talk about it. It's too painful." Half-truth. Seeing Xanny earlier that day...oh hell, Xanny was the last living relative she had outside of Aunt Anette. Why did that thought fill her with a strange new hope? By all psychological rights, she should have hated Xanny for always being a ghost in her way, between her and her parents. She knew it was painful for them to look at her face every day and wonder about the child they had lost. But her parents had loved her. She knew that. Maybe having Xanny in her life was some twisted way of getting her parents back, or putting their ghosts to rest, the cries of whom she'd been ignoring all these years. _Find your sister, Augusta. Find her_.  
  
Her prolonged silence seemed to be enough to cover up the part she wasn't telling. He didn't press.  
  
"So you really want to leave things alone?" he asked.  
  
"What else is there to do?" she sighed.  
  
"You'd be surprised."  
  
He was grinning.  
  
"Seth? What is it?"  
  
"Well...the money is yours, isn't it? We could all go to Mexico together, you could transfer your funds down there, even bring down Aunt Anette if you want. No one at home has to know about me or Ritchie. We'll go incognito."  
  
"And live happily ever after?" Augusta asked, her voice slightly scathing.  
  
"It was a thought."  
  
"I'm surprised at you...entertaining fantasies like that."  
  
Now she'd finally hit a nerve. He looked away, his chin dropping. "Yeah," he said, his legs sliding off the bed. "I guess I was being pretty ridiculous. Don't worry, it won't happen again."  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
"Carl. Wake up."  
  
He stirred, turned over. Xanny had flipped on the light, it made him wince.  
  
"What?" he murmured, the whiny voice of someone stirring from sleep.  
  
"Wake up, Carl. I have to talk to you."  
  
Carl raised his head and saw Xanny sitting on the bed across from him. Her face looked a little puffy, her eyes red. "You okay?" he asked as he pulled himself up on one elbow.  
  
"Fine. How about you? Think of anything?"  
  
"I couldn't clear my head out to think it all the way through. I thought a nap might help. Sometimes things come to me right when I wake up."  
  
"Anything come to you?"  
  
"No." He looked troubled, even apologetic. "Nothing. These two bastards are just too slippery. If a whole flock of policemen can't catch them, if they can rob a bank in broad daylight and get away, what chance do we have?"  
  
"A big one, actually," Xanny said. "I have an idea."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's dangerous, though. For me. You're not going to like it."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I'm going to go talk to them."  
  
"To...."  
  
"The Geckos."  
  
"You are certifiably-"  
  
"Carl, listen. You know the sperm stains? You were right, Seth and Augusta are sleeping together. I don't know if they still are, but they were. Which gives us a major advantage."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"He isn't going to hurt her."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"I know that," she stressed. "He isn't. The cops don't know it and I doubt they'd believe it if we told them, but it's the truth. They aren't going to hurt Augusta. She's as safe as if she were back at home with her auntie and fiancée."  
  
Carl made a noise in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes, to which Xanny replied with a faintly amused smile.  
  
"I'm going to go talk to them."  
  
"Won't that cause problems of its own?"  
  
She shook her head. "Seth won't hurt me, either. He may be a criminal, and a bastard, but he's not a fucking bastard. He'd never even slap a woman if he didn't absolutely have to."  
  
"What makes you so sure? I mean, after Ritchie's strange little habits..."  
  
"That's exactly why Seth wouldn't do it. Deep down, he knows how fucked up Ritchie is. He has to, by now. He just can't deal with it. Which is why he'd never come close to imitating it."  
  
"But going to go and talk to them...God, I don't know..."  
  
"It'll throw them off. But I'm not a threat to them. At least, they don't think I am. And my only purpose will be to get Augusta out. Then the police can chase them all the way down to Mexico, I don't care. That isn't our job. We were hired to recover Augusta, and that's exactly what we're going to do."  
  
"I have to think about it, Xanny," Carl said, all seriousness. "Really."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Give me an hour, okay? You promise me you won't do anything for another hour."  
  
"I promise, but if they move again, which is possible, they can move pretty suddenly at times if they even suspect their cover has been blown, I'm going to follow. And then I'll do what I have to do."  
  
"Fine. Just cool your heels until then. Okay?"  
  
She got up, flashed him a thumbs-up, and left the bedroom. 


	13. Unlucky

Thirteen: Unlucky

It was dawn. Seth, since he hadn't slept, and Augusta, since she couldn't sleep, got Ritchie up early to hit the road. They didn't see the motorcycle following them.

They drove a long way that day. Five, six hours. Into another state. The speed limit in Oklahoma, out on the interstate, was 75, so Seth was doing an even 90 without blinking. They finally arrived at the other end of the state, some smaller town, rather cute and quaint in its little way, and checked into a hotel that actually felt comfortable. Seth was feeling generous--he got two connecting rooms, one for Augusta by herself. Ritchie said nothing, and Seth had the feeling that Augusta had earned his respect by shooting someone off his back the other day.

She sat in her own room, her brain mulling over everything, threatening to overload her with the enormity of her thoughts. Her first impression of Seth had been a mean son-of-a-bitch who didn't care about anything but himself, his brother, and their money. To find that he had a romantic side was a bit...unsettling. She even found, much to her own shame, that it made him a little bit less attractive. She could have fallen much harder for the bastard made of steel than the villain with the heart of gold.

It was almost four in the afternoon, they'd been sitting around here for God-knew how long---Seth had gone out for some reason only known to him, leaving her in one room and Ritchie in another. Ritchie didn't do much other than glance in every while or so to make sure she was still there. He didn't even toe the threshold between the two rooms. She found herself thinking about Marcos, and if she would ever see him again. And if she did, what would she say? The thought of never having to say anything bothered her---it had never bothered her to keep secrets from Marcos before because he seemed more than content to let her have them. Now, it felt strangely wrong. Why that was, she had no idea. She tried to figure it out, but it was a pretzel in her mind that refused to untwist.

These thoughts were immediately thrown off by the last sound she ever expected to hear. A knock on her door. Surely that couldn't be Seth knocking on her door. She'd heard him come in nearly a half-hour ago, sworn he'd glanced into her room briefly, saw her lying on the bed, realized she wasn't going to look back, and left her alone. She sat up, wondering if the boys had heard it, too.

Whoever it was, knocked again. Not very loud, she realized. Just loud enough for her to hear it, in the quiet of her room. She strained her ears, making sure she wasn't imagining it---could it be the AC, or the vibrations from the boys watching TV next door?

A third time, this time slow and steady.

_Knock. Knock. Knock_.

Augusta slid off the bed. She glanced toward the doorway, saw nothing, as the boys were out of eyeshot, and got to her feet. Stealthily, she crept to the door, and twisted the knob.

Xanny stood there, smiling pleasantly, acting as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Augusta nearly fainted.

"What?" she hissed, but Xanny didn't miss a beat. She gently pushed the door open, eliciting a loud squeak from the hinge. Then Augusta nearly fainted again, because she heard Seth's voice.

"Augusta? What are you doing?"

Xanny pressed a finger to her lips. Augusta backed into the bed and wound up inadvertently sitting down.

"Augusta?" came Seth's voice again, this time more agitated. She heard him get up, heard his footsteps, shot a frantic glance toward Xanny, who just stood there, looking at the empty doorway, waiting. Almost anticipating.

Seth appeared. He blinked, taking in Augusta, passing over Xanny only momentarily. Then, his eyes landed on her, and he blinked again.

"Hi Seth," Xanny said.

%%%%%%%%%%

"Xanny," he said, finding that his voice wouldn't work properly. His jaw moved, as if attempting to remind him how words worked, but he was so stunned, so utterly shocked to see her standing there, flesh and blood, just out of nowhere, that he could not think of a single thing to say.

His brain flooded. Seeing her in the flesh again, now he knew how stupid he'd been to ever mistake Augusta for her. She'd gotten harder, older. There was built up muscle where there had only been soft flesh before. She must have spent time in prison---only women in prison built up that kind of muscle. But her face, it wasn't hard. She was actually smiling at him, slightly. Faintly. Her eyes met his evenly, not flinching, not hesitating, not afraid, just pure rational calm.

"_Damn you_, woman," he whispered.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Not what I expected, but I guess I'll take it," she said, casually striding closer to Augusta, putting herself between her and Seth. "I see you've been busy."

"Yeah, business has been good," he said, attempting to meet her calm. He heard Ritchie approach, could practically smell the sweat between Ritchie's hand and the gun he clutched, ready to blow away an uninvited guest. Seth made a simple gesture with his hand, Ritchie understood it, but did not pull back. He merely waited for the next signal.

"I can see that. Nice room." Only now did he realize that she had her hands shoved in her pockets. Stupid, he should have noticed that right away. When she saw his eyes dart down, she pulled her hands out, and he backed away just a touch. He heard Ritchie cock his gun.

"No, I'm not armed. I don't pack anymore," she said, her face losing that confident smile and trading it for one of utter honesty. He'd always been able to read Xanny pretty well, was surprised to find that much hadn't changed. "I've just come to talk, so Ritchie can put his cannon away."

"You _know _that isn't going to happen," Seth muttered.

Xanny shrugged. "It was worth a try." She swayed lightly on her legs. She looked like she wanted to pace---Xanny had always been a pacer when she was nervous---but she wasn't going to, either because too much movement wasn't wise in her situation, or she didn't want to show her emotions.

"So you came to talk," Seth said, stepping into the room. She stepped back a little, not to get distance from him, but to get closer to Augusta. "What about?"

"Your friend here." Xanny motioned behind her. "Augusta. Her fiancée wants her back."

Seth snorted. "And what does that have to do with you? You want a take of the ransom?"

That did get her to smile. A rather cheeky smile, at that. "No, Seth, my days of pillaging and plundering are over. I'm working for a detective---you heard about it on the news, didn't you? Marcos Ferarre hired my boss, Carl Whittaker, to get Augusta back."

"Why _you_?" Seth asked.

She smiled even wider. "Don't play dumb, Seth. It never suited you."

He shrugged. "Fine. You just have to admit...the resemblance is a little uncanny."

Xanny nodded, slowly. Now she was hiding something. "Yeah, it is. I guess we all figured you'd like to know for sure that you got the wrong girl."

"The wrong girl?" he echoed. "What makes you say that?"

"_Again _with the dumb act," she sighed. "Come on, Seth. I won't lie to you, you don't lie to me."

"Fine," he ground out, taking a step closer---and this time she didn't retreat. "Then you tell me the truth. Why you? What do _you _have to do with this?"

"You tell _me_, Seth," she snapped, anger clouding her features. "_You're _the one who hijacked a girl with my face. Obviously you think that you and I have some unfinished business."

She'd got him there. He locked up. For once in his life, he couldn't think of a single comeback. So instead, he changed the subject.

"You said you're here to get Augusta back. So that means what? You're here to negotiate with me?"

Xanny nodded slowly. "What do you want for her?"

"Ten million. Small bills."

Xanny arched an eyebrow. "D'you have any fucking idea how much ten million in small bills will weigh? Be realistic, Seth. You're trading one dead weight for another."

He cleared his throat. Finally, he glanced at Augusta, and was amazed to find her watching Xanny with the utmost interest. Not that that should really have been amazing, after all, this was the first time she'd met her doppleganger. No doubt she would be baffled and possibly impressed. Xanny was being rather impressive, to give her due credit.

"What makes you think she's a dead weight?" Seth asked, letting his voice slip down into his more seductive mode. "Augusta's actually been having fun with us. The other day she killed a thug off Ritchie's back."

Xanny nodded, her face darkening even further. "Yeah, I also know about the sperm all over the couch in your second to last hotel room. What the hell is wrong with you, Seth? When did you start fucking your hostages? I thought that was Ritchie's job."

Now she had hit a nerve. Seth had to push his hand back to keep Ritchie from charging forward. "Fucking bitch," Ritchie growled, but obeyed Seth's silent command.

"Cheap shot, Xanny," Seth said warningly.

"No, Seth, it was _your _cheap shot." He could tell she was getting more and more pissed by the second. "It isn't like you to fuck things up like this. You really are distracted. You think I couldn't tell? Why do you think I came here personally? And yes, before you can ask, I am alone. No police are following me, I'm not going to report you. I've just been hired to recover the hostage." She paused, considering her next words. "Considering the circumstances, I thought you might want to see me. Like I said, we must have unfinished business."

"We do," he said. "But don't pretend you're all concerned about me."

"I'm not," she sighed. "I'm concerned about Augusta. She deserves better than to be fucked over by you."

"I _am _sitting right _here_," came Augusta's faint voice, but Seth was already set to explode.

"Fucked over by ME?" he nearly howled, his voice going uncharacteristically high on the last word. "You got a lot of fucking nerve, you two-faced, lying, deceitful _bitch_!"

"I've never lied to you, Seth," Xanny said calmly. "You just can't handle the truth."

He took another step forward, wanting to pull his gun so badly, wanting to cold-cock her right on the head, but resisting. He didn't hit women. He didn't even like shooting them, even though he wouldn't hesitate if they made him. Then, he stopped. What if she was trying to make him mad on purpose?

Her eyes bore into his, waiting. "You don't lie to me?" he spat. "Then tell me the truth, right now. Why are you here? The real reason, not the one you keep telling me."

"I will, Seth. Right after you tell me what in the hell you really want with me."

%%%%%%%%%%

This was not going well. She'd pissed Seth off. Sure, she'd meant to, but not this far. She thought she was being so cool, so collected. She'd seen him twice in the last forty-eight hours, she thought she'd been prepared for this confrontation. But she wasn't. Being this close to him brought back so many memories, good and bad, pain and pleasure, that it was all she could do, just to keep meeting his eyes. Meeting his eyes was something Seth looked for in a person, someone who wasn't a coward, someone who didn't flinch. He would respect anyone who met his eyes, no matter what the situation. But now, that she'd laid it out on the line, it had ceased to be what it was supposed to be---a chance to rescue Augusta---and it had become a chance for her and Seth to really have it out.

She simply wasn't ready.

"Seth," she said, after a pause, "you and I can do this later. Right now, I've got a family who wants their girl back, so why don't we take care of business first?"

"What are you offering?"

"Whatever you want."

"Bullshit. No one ever offers whatever I want."

"Maybe that's because no one knows, Seth. You want to make a trade? I'll stay if you let her go?"

"Fat fucking chance," came Ritchie's growl.

"He's right. Augusta is a hostage. You're probably going to be in as much trouble for this as we are." He gave her a rather smarmy grin. "Spent time in prison recently, Xanny?"

"Yeah," she said quietly.

"Out on parole?"

"I got a reduced sentence, plea-bargaining and good behavior."

"You probably still aren't supposed to leave the state."

She shrugged. "Probably not. But I'm not too worried."

"So you really want to stay here?"

"I want this to be over between us, Seth."

He was considering. "You go back to your bosses, and tell them to get that ten million ready. Then you come back here and deliver it yourself. Then you can stay, and she can go. Got it?"

Xanny nodded. "Sounds fair."

"And if you tell anyone, especially the police, I will splatter her guts all over this hotel room. Got it?"

"Got it," she said, but told him with her eyes that she thought he was a liar.

Just then, Augusta stood up. "No!"

All of them looked at her. Xanny glanced over her shoulder, trying not to be obvious, knowing Seth would pick it up if she let it on too strong.

"She's not staying here in my place. You said ten million before. Ten million and you let me go. You don't get to keep her, too!"

"Augusta, stay out of this," Xanny said coolly. "It's between me and Seth."

Augusta looked mildly panicked as she stepped away from the bed. "But-"

Xanny glared at her. Augusta's mouth snapped shut. But it was too late.

Seth reached into his pocket, drew his gun. Xanny was true to her word, she wasn't packing. She backed away from the door, which she had slowly approached to make her exit. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Seth cocked and aimed. "You tell me, right now, what in the hell is really going on," he whispered.

Xanny shook her head. "I promised I'd tell you everything later---"

"Not later, now."

"Fine, but you tell me what you want with me, first."

"It's not hard to figure out, Xanny," Seth said, feeling much more in control, and definitely like he was going to get more out of this bargain than she was, especially by the fleeting panic on her face. "You deserted me. I just want to know why."

"_Because_!" Xanny nearly screamed, stepping forward, "because you didn't _believe _me, you son of a bitch!"

"Believe you about what?" he screamed back, leveling the gun at her.

"Oh, put that fucking thing away, Seth, you're not going to shoot me or Augusta, so just stop pretending."

Seth lowered the gun. "Believe you about what?" he demanded again.

Xanny pointed to Ritchie. "About _him_!" she bellowed. "Him and his PROBLEM!"

"What problem?"

"He's a fucking _nut_!" Xanny shrieked. Ritchie tried to charge, Seth stopped him with his shoulder.

"Calm the fuck down!" Seth told him. He glared at Xanny. "You'd better have a damn good reason---"

"That hotel room in Texas, you bastard! Blood everywhere, that you never saw, because I made him clean it up. That hostage he raped and murdered and instead of believing me, you blamed me for letting her get away."

Seth gawked at her. "Is that what this is all about?"

She shook her head, blue hair flying. "No, not all of it. I realized that day what I was dealing with, and that I had to get away. I've done a lot since then, and maybe I'm still basically the same person, but I don't want any part of this life anymore."

"Xanny," Seth said, stepping forward, and mercifully Ritchie stayed back, "are you saying all of this time it was because I believed Ritchie over you? That you were jealous?"

"Not jealous," she spat. "Unlucky, I guess. Unlucky enough to have the only person in the world that I trusted not trust me back. I should really thank you, though, you opened my eyes to a lot of things. I'll tell you the truth, I'm actually a happy person now. I don't feel the need to settle things with my fists anymore. If you ever realized the truth, you might find the same thing for yourself." She was panting now, the exertion having taking more out of her than she'd ever thought. "So I left you."

"Not because you..." he trailed off, unsure if he should say it.

"Because I betrayed you?" She paused, then admitted it. "Yeah, that too. I called the cops that day. Not to get you arrested, but to save myself. I knew there really wasn't any other way I could make a clean break."

He glared at her for a long moment, then down at the floor, where his gun was pointed. "No, not that."

Startled, she said, "You think it was because I didn't love you?" Ritchie snorted. Seth lifted his head, his expression clearly showing his obvious discomfort at the thought. Xanny chuckled, lightly. "Face it, Seth. What we had wasn't love."

Finally, he looked at her again. His eyes were cold, distant. "No, I guess it wasn't."

She nodded. "Okay, then," she said, and turned toward the door.

"Wait."

"What now?"

"You didn't hold up your end of the deal. You wanted to know what I wanted with you. I want to know why you're really here."

"Because I was paid to be," she said, putting all the honesty she had into it. He didn't buy it.

"The _real _reason, Xanny."

"Don't," Augusta whispered, her eyes widening.

Xanny glanced at her again. No, she wouldn't. But Seth was a lot smarter than he looked.

He glanced at her, then at Augusta, then back again. He stepped closer, then closer still. He bent down a little, meeting them right in the eyes.

The same color eyes.

He blinked, straightened. "Holy shit."

Xanny tensed. "Let it go, Seth. I'm leaving to go get your money."

"Fuck that." He put his hand on the door, even as she moved toward it again. "You two...you're related, aren't you?"

"That's stupid," Xanny spat. "How could we possibly be related?"

Seth looked at Augusta. "Your missing twin...the one you wouldn't tell me about."

Xanny whirled on Augusta. "You told him that?" she barked.

Augusta flinched. "I didn't tell him all of it!"

To their astonishment, Seth threw his head back and laughed.


	14. It All Goes Wrong Again

Disclaimer: I stole Seth and Ritchie. Since they're thieves, too, they really don't mind, but I'm sure I'm going to have to give them back. So really just borrowing. No money for me, dammit.

Fourteen: It All Goes Wrong Again

"What is so fucking funny?" Augusta demanded, her anger getting riled up by Seth's sudden attitude switch.

He looked at her. It was different than any other look he'd ever given her. For the first time, it felt like he was actually seeing her for exactly what she was. He glanced from her to Xanny again, still smiling.

"Fucking _brilliant_," he said. "Just brilliant. So, does the family know, too?"

Xanny just glared at him.

"Well, in that case," he said smugly, "if I can get ten million for one, I can get twenty-million for two."

It was at that moment that Xanny chose to strike. Her fist came up and she clobbered Seth right in the chin. He reeled, but recovered, his gun flying up. Xanny caught it quickly, pushing his arm straight up and knocking him hard into Ritchie, who was approaching fast.

"Door!" Xanny screamed. Augusta ran for it. Ritchie fired, missed, put a hole in the door even as Augusta opened it. To her credit, she didn't shriek.

Xanny let go, causing Seth and Ritchie to crash on top of each other and slump against the wall. She spun on her heel and took off out the door.

Outside in the lot was her motorcycle. Augusta was standing beside it, not sure what to do.

"Get on!" Xanny howled, throwing her leg over. She shoved the helmet back and Augusta grabbed it, pulling it on with one hand and frantically grasping around Xanny's waist with the other as she revved up the motorcycle. Seth and Ritchie were almost in the doorway, having recovered too quickly.

Xanny gunned the entine. The wheel spun even as she turned, knocking a very large and ugly cloud of gravel up and into the hotel room. She had the distinct pleasure of hearing Ritchie and Seth both get painfully splattered as she tore off across the parking lot.

%%%%%%%%%%

"_FUCK_!!!"

The cry was loud enough for everyone in the hotel to hear it. Their cover was shot. "Get the briefcase!" Seth ordered. Ritchie obeyed, came back as Seth was starting up the car and turning to scream out of the lot. Ritchie barely had the door closed before Seth was gone.

_Women_. _Women were the bane of his existence_. With the universe as his witness, he would _never_, as long as he lived, _ever _get involved with one again. They were good for pussy and then _out the door_. Nothing else.

"Seth, you sure you don't want me to drive?" Ritchie asked calmly.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He made a hard right out into the main street, causing the honking and wailing of several horns. The tires screeched, but it was worth it---he saw a head of bright blue hair in front of a head of bright blonde hair. They weren't too far ahead.

It was a different sort of chase. No matter how hard he pressed the accelerator, he couldn't get the car to go fast enough. Their chase a few days ago must have done something to the car. She, on the other hand, was obviously riding some piece of machinery that was well oiled and able to take on the world.

Question was, _where the fuck was she going_?

She made a wide circle around the town---she didn't dare go into the woods, knowing perfectly well that it was a useless tactic, as off-road driving was one of Ritchie's favorite things to do. Seth had spent too long watching Ritchie do it not to pick up his tricks.

Then, in a moment of intuition, Seth turned off onto a side road.

"Where are you going?" Ritchie asked.

"Patience, brother," Seth said, cutting down the residential area as if it were a deserted road.

%%%%%%%%%%

"He isn't behind us anymore!"

"What?!"

Leaning closer, Augusta yelled in Xanny's ear, "_He's not behind us anymore_!"

Xanny looked back. It wasn't the first time in her life she'd had to drive helmetless, but at this high speed it was starting to screw with her vision. Sure enough, there wasn't anyone behind them.

This wasn't good.

Carefully, Xanny slowed down. She glanced around, checking up the sidestreets. This was an incredibly stupid move, in some sense, making this kind of commotion in this small town, knowing it was going to get everyone's attention. The smart thing to do would be to make for the nearest way out, and not the highway. The highway would be too easy for them to track her.

Xanny caught herself. She wasn't thinking like a person on the right side of the law, she realized. She was thinking like a criminal. Getaways, hiding, taking back roads, those were things that honest people didn't have to do. She wanted a commotion, she wanted attention, she wanted protection from the Geckos.

Her stomach went cold when she realized that _nobody _here had the power to protect either one of them from the Geckos. Maybe thinking like a criminal was the right thing to do.

She pulled over to a curb---neat little houses had started to appear, dotted with some not-so-neat ones. Stopping the bike, she fumbled in her pocket for her cel-phone and pressed the speed dial. She had to at least tell Carl and Marcos where they were---if they hadn't already followed the commotion.

"_Xanny_!" Augusta screamed. Xanny looked up to see the dirt-colored car come screaming around a corner, Seth leaning out of the driver's side. She had never in her life seen him look so angry. He raised his gun and he fired at her.

Both girls ducked. Xanny gunned the motor, heard a terrible noise, and slipped past Seth as he went past her, unable to maneuver the car as slickly as she was able to maneuver her bike. But he was still fast, able to turn around eventually, still firing wildly.

Xanny couldn't get the bike to hit a high enough speed to get her a decent distance from Seth. Within a few seconds she felt a horrible jolt from behind, and Augusta shrieked.

Seth was ramming them, trying to knock them over.

By the third hit, Xanny nearly lost control of the handlebars. She leaned heavily to the left, going off-road, catching sight of a set of railroad tracks. If she could get on the tracks, for even a short way, Seth would have a hell of a time following her. She might even be able to get away before a train came by and wrecked the plan. Unfortunately, she did not see the deep ditch between her and the tracks until it was too late to pick up enough speed to jump it.

"Ritchie! _Tires_!"

_Boy, was he pissed_. He was screaming loud enough for her to hear him over two angry engines. It wasn't so much that that scared her, as the fact that she heard Ritchie shoot off two perfectly aimed bullets, and felt the bike go out from under her.

Augusta was knocked off and flipped to the side. Xanny held on a little longer, more out of panic than instinct, as Augusta was the smart one who didn't get pinned. Seth had made a sharp break, causing the car to turn 90 degrees, so that his driver's side was only feet away from her falling bike.

She felt her leg get caught underneath, dimly felt the tearing and piecing of her flesh, even though the leather chaps. It was minimal, if painful, damage. She could still run.

Her shoulder hit the ground. The bike kept going. She managed to grab hold of something---it was a rock, she realized later---to use it to anchor her weight out from under the bike. Something caught in the leather of her chaps, pulling harder. The bike was not going to let her go! With its engine still growling, like a wounded animal, it kept its momentum until it reached the edge of the ditch.

And then it disappeared, Xanny barely getting her leg out from under it as it went. But it was too late. The edge of the ditch had allowed gravity to have its way with her. Her other shoulder hit the soft dirt wall of the ravine, and she realized that it wasn't too deep, she wouldn't die---

Something smacked her on the head, hard. She had hit the bottom before she'd known it, and at her speed, it had been too fast. The world turned different colors, and lost its solidity.

Xanny looked up, saw Seth coming toward her. She struggled to get to her feet, found that all she could do was flip to her tummy and try to crawl away. He grabbed her by the back of her jacket, up by the cowl, and pulled.

She fell limp against him.

"_Get up_." His voice wasn't even human anymore.

She slumped at his feet, the world spinning. She was going to barf.

He yanked again. This time with enough strength to pull her to her knees. Her hands fell against his legs, her head lolling against his abdomen. The buckle of his belt scratched her cheek, leaving a thick red mark and a trickle of blood.

"I said get up!" He pulled her back so he could look down at her. Her eyes wouldn't focus. Her head slumped forward, her mouth worked to talk, but she couldn't say anything.

Then she felt herself being roughly lifted---more like dragged---back up the side of the ravine. When she reached the top, she nearly lost consciousness as she was unceremoniously flopped over the edge.

%%%%%%%%%%

Seth was so angry, at that moment, he pictured pinning her to the bottom of the ditch floor and strangling her with his own bare hands. But no, he wasn't going to let her bring him down like that. And she was obviously hurt, by the way she couldn't seem to get back on her feet, pathetically attempting to crawl away from him.

He dragged her back. She was like a rag-doll, unable to control herself. And then he saw her eyes. Something was wrong with her eyes. Was she concussed? He'd never seen a concussion before, he had no idea what it looked like. He managed to get her high enough so that his arm could get under hers, and he could pull her up toward the edge. The ravine was actually rather shallow, in the whole scheme of things, and he didn't have a hard time climbing it, although he was pretty filthy by the time he reached the top. He dumped her, and then felt himself being swatted, rather harder than he expected, by a furious Augusta.

"You killed her, you son of a bitch!" she railed, pushing him away from her. "_You killed her_!"

"She's not dead, she's concussed," Seth said, the energy drained from his voice. He caught one of her wrists, tried to drag her away. She fought herself free, went to Xanny again, shielding her body with her own.

"Xanny, wake up...you can't fall asleep, you can't! Wake up!"

"Ritchie," Seth growled, "trunk."

Ritchie approached, his gun in hand. He didn't like having to get too near Xanny if he didn't have to. He nudged her with his foot, saw that she had no fight in her, and holstered his weapon. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of beans, and took her to the trunk, where he dumped her inside and slammed the hood closed.

Seth dragged Augusta, nearly crying, back to the car and managed to shove her into the back seat. He practically had to sit on her to get her to calm down, and he was far too exhausted to drive. Ritchie took them a few towns over, Seth wasn't paying attention. At long as the police hadn't shown up, that was good enough for him.

%%%%%%%%%%

When Xanny opened her eyes, she was staring down at her lap. Her neck was cramped, and any movement sent blaring pain down her spine. But she moved anyway, only to find that her wrists and ankles were bound with something....

She looked to the side, ignoring the pain. Duct tape. That was Ritchie's thing, as it was with most psychos. Duct tape was so useful. The brief flickering thought of how Marcos had initially made her think of Christian Bale from American Psycho---he had used duct tape---was nearly amusing.

She blinked hard, shaking her head. There was a huge, throbbing bruise somewhere, she didn't know where, but she could feel the tender area. If she was concussed, she was lucky. In the trunk of the car, she had struggled to stay awake, using the jarring rocking of the car as in incentive. She thought about the cel-phone in her pocket, wanted to pull it out, but couldn't get through the fog of her head to do it. She knew the worst thing for a concussed person to do was go to sleep. It would have been better if they'd knocked her out entirely. Although the effort it took to render a human being unconscious just by using physical force was just a shred below the power needed to kill him---or her, in this case. Somewhere as the car began to slow down, and the weaving began as Ritchie, no doubt, was searching for someplace to stay that was safe, she lost the battle and the world went black for a little bit.

Now she was awake, and duct taped to a chair. As she drew in a deep, cleansing breath, she realized that something was constricting her chest, too. She glanced down again, caught the dull glint of silver-gray. Holy crap, they had duct taped her to the chair around her chest AND her waist!

The realization made her smile. _They think I'm dangerous_.

She was vaguely aware of the sound of running water. She turned her head, was met with more blazing pain. She shut her eyes, winced, wondered if they would be gracious enough to clean her up if she barfed all over herself. Then again, as the flickering memory of Seth's furious face danced through her memory, letting her rot in her own filth would be the kind of vicious thing they'd do, unless the smell bothered them too much.

The sound of running water stopped. Someone was in the shower. She glanced around, trying not to move her head too much. She was sitting, tucked in the corner, safely out of the view of the windows, but had a clear sight through the adjoining rooms. Two rooms again, either Seth was getting extravagant, or he'd wanted her in a room by herself for a reason.

The thought made her stomach do a slow flip-flop. _No, Seth wouldn't..._

A sudden muscle spasm made her tug against the tape. Nerves, she told herself. Nerves. She had to calm down. No, she was calm, she just had to stay calm, _no matter what happened_.

A/N: I've got about seventeen chapters currently done on this, and this is #14, so I have three more chapters ready to go. But I hesitate to post them all at once---feedback would be a good way to help me regulate it, if anybody's out there reading. Hey, a1iciaxoxo, your reviews were so great, where did you go? Come back! :)


	15. Aftershock

Fifteen: Aftershock

_Come on, Seth, get your shit together_.

It wasn't like him to lose control like this. But she'd been pretty outrageous in her little attempt at an escape. Worst part was, he didn't know which she he was more pissed at.

Augusta had calmed down pretty fast, when she realized there was just no use fighting against Seth. She'd gone into total shut-down mode for the rest of the drive, and Seth was too exhausted to care. He just sat in the corner of the car, staring out the window, occasionally at her for long moments, then out the window again when she didn't look back.

It was worry he saw on her face. Deep creases of it. She was scared, finally, after all this time. She was scared for Xanny.

Xanny, for her part, had been pretty quiet in the trunk. He'd half-expected pounding, and had been alarmed when Ritchie wound up dragging her inside, still a dead sack of potatoes. Then, just to be safe, Ritchie had tied Xanny to a chair, once both of them were sure that she was still alive.

Augusta had wanted to stay with her. Seth made her sit in the other room. The worry increased, and now, she did shoot furtive glances at him, distrustful, angry glances. If she had been Xanny, he would have known for sure she was plotting something. But what a sheltered little girl like Augusta could possibly do to him, he didn't bother to worry about it.

He went into the other room to take a shower, clean off the mud and dirt from that ravine. Ritchie had an extra wife-beater in the car, but the vest and coat had to be cleaned off. What had taken the worst damage were his pants---big ugly marks on the knees from where he'd gone sliding down the hill. Ritchie offered to take care of it, began filling the sink with sudsy water. Seth got out the biggest of the stains on his jacket and vest, left them up to dry, and went to bathe.

When he came out, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed that Xanny was awake. And clear-eyed.

He stalked through the room, unable to not look at her. She watched him, too, apprehensive. After all, she was tied to a chair, and had a right to be a bit nervous about it. But neither of them said a word.

He went into the other room, shut the door behind him. Augusta and Ritchie were watching TV. Augusta looked like she had recovered herself somewhat. She tensed, though, when Seth approached.

"Got that shirt?"

Ritchie handed it to him. "I'll take your pants over to the dryer," Ritchie said. "I was just waiting for you to come out."

"Fine," Seth said, pulling on the shirt. He sat down on the small couch, and said, "I'll be here."

Ritchie left.

%%%%%%%%%%

When Seth came into the room, it was hard not to notice him. After all, he was only wearing a towel. His fire tattoo, blazing black down his arm, up along his shoulder, creeping up his neck, rippled as he moved.

Augusta was sure she was losing her mind.

Ritchie threw him a little white tank, which he put on. Then Ritchie left. Augusta wasn't paying attention to anything they were saying---it was like she had stopped hearing everything since the motorcycle had crashed. She wondered if her ears were damaged, and decided to test it out.

As Seth sat down on the couch, she called his name.

"Yeah?" Good, she could hear. The roaring went away. Carefully, she got up and went to sit beside him. He looked at her, a threatening sort of look, cold and clearly warning her not to get too close. Maybe the kind of look he would give someone who wanted to fight him in a bar.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"About what?"

"All of this." She leaned a little closer, felt him tense. Another inch and he would actually reach out to push her away. "What are you going to do with us?"

"I'm thinking."

She nodded, wondered if she should push her luck. "Is there...anything...I can do?"

His eyes narrowed a little bit more. "Like what? Try to escape again?"

"I'm sorry about that..."

"Bullshit," he said, his voice low and even.

"No, I really wasn't thinking. I just got caught up in the moment." She gave him a coy look. "You know how that happens to me."

"Yeah, I guess so." He looked away, toward the television.

"Seth," she said, her voice just a touch louder.

"What?" Annoyed now. He didn't buy a single word she was saying. It was time to drop the act. She let out her breath, and when she moved this time, it wasn't with the slow, seductive hesitancy, it was with a certain assertiveness that didn't allow him to shove her away.

"I'm serious. What's going to happen next? What are you going to do with Xanny?"

"You heard me before. Twenty million, ten for you, ten for her."

"Well...don't you think we should call Marcos then?"

"We will. After I talk to Xanny."

Augusta hesitated. "You aren't going to hurt her, are you?"

"Why do you care so much?" Seth asked, finally looking at her with something other than cool distrust.

"She's my sister."

"A sister you've known for how long? A few hours?"

"A day," Augusta corrected. Seth arched an eyebrow. "Yes," she sighed, knowing coming clean was the only way to regain his favor. "When we were in the restaurant, she was in one of the stalls. That's what you heard, when you asked me if everything was okay. There was no rat."

"Yes there was." His voice was black, dangerous.

"Seth, don't hurt her, please. She was just...she was just trying to help me. She was just trying to protect me."

Seth snorted. "You think she gives a flying fuck about you? You're money to her."

Augusta pulled back as if he'd slapped her, but he didn't stop.

"Don't think that because you two shared a secret for a half a day, and then took a joyride together, that you've got some big camaraderie thing going on now. You don't know shit about Xanny."

"You don't seem to, either," Augusta dared, letting a bit of anger slide through. It was a mistake. He wasn't in the mood for her temper. He leaned a little toward her, his eyes pinning her in place.

"I know her a fuck lot better than you do," he hissed in her face. She could smell his breath---he hadn't eaten or brushed his teeth in a while. It wasn't so bad, but it was hot and intense.

"Still," Augusta said, pleading again, "don't hurt her. You don't understand...my whole life, my parents were looking for her, and now that we've found her, I can't let anything happen to her."

"I'd be more worried about you than her, sugar," he said, backing away.

She leaned into him, her fingertips grazing the towel around his waist. "Seth, I'm not afraid of you. You were the one who was talking to me about running away to Mexico---"

"Stupid dreams. You said so yourself."

"I never said they were stupid." She sighed. "I'm not asking you to let her go. But you're so angry, so tense. You're going to hurt her whether you mean to or not. Let me help you."

His eyes snapped back to her, suspicious. "What are you talking about?"

She gave him a little suggestive half-smile. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

She slid to her knees. She was practically between his. "I'll even swallow if you want."

His face softened, and he looked, for just a second, as if he actually were considering her suggestion. Then, he laughed, a short, quick bark.

"You are fucking crazy," he said, pulling away, his hand going to where the towel was knotted, as if to keep it on, even though it was in little danger of coming off. "Have you forgotten about Ritchie? You want him to walk in on you giving me a blow job?" He laughed again. "Besides, how do I know you won't bite it off?"

She tried to look hurt, but at that moment the door opened and Ritchie came back in. He stopped as he closed the door behind him, looked at the two of them, obviously surprised.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked in his soft voice.

Seth got up, pushing Augusta aside. "Not a thing, brother," he said with a little grin. He went into the next room, closing the door behind him. Augusta crawled back onto the couch, her face flushed dark red.

Ritchie looked at her, and she could tell he was amused. He crossed the room, went back to his chair and resumed watching television. At least, that's where his eyes were.

"That wasn't a good idea," he said.

"What wasn't?" she asked, cringing.

"Trying to manipulate Seth. Especially with sex. Never works."

"I wasn't trying---"

Ritchie cut her off with a glance. She snapped her mouth shut.

"How do you know?"

Ritchie chuckled. "Come on. You think Xanny never tried it? If she couldn't get away with it, nobody could."

"You know, it makes me a little uneasy, how much you know about your brother's private life."

Ritchie just shrugged. "When you live in such close quarters, you can't really help it."

"I don't understand the two of them," Augusta muttered.

"Neither do I. If you want my two cents, I'm rooting for you."

Augusta felt a jolt of surprise, then felt like melting between the couch cushions in humiliation.

%%%%%%%%%%

Xanny watched as Seth came back into the room, the towel still around his waist, but his wife-beater back in place. She wondered, briefly, why they called those shirts wife-beaters, then realized as he approached her that she might be just about to find out.

"You know, I don't think you've ever given me the silent treatment before," she said.

"What the fuck were you thinking before?" he asked, ignoring her opening.

"When I tried to run away? What do you think? You just threatened to take me hostage, too! You think I'm going to just say, 'oh, okay, I'll just have a seat and wait this one out.' No, Seth, sorry, you really should have fucking known better than to make a threat like that toward me."

"If it had just been you, it would have been one thing, but Augusta---"

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I tried to steal your hostage," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, Seth, she's my sister. You'd do the same thing for Ritchie without even blinking."

"_You and Augusta are not me and Ritchie_."

Xanny looked at him steadily. "You don't know anything about Augusta and me."

"I know more than she knows about you. Does she know about your criminal record? Does she know all your dirty little secrets and not judge you on them anyway? I'll bet if she knew about the job we pulled in Texas on your twenty-second birthday, she'd---"

"SHUT UP!" It wasn't a shout, but it was loud and firm enough to echo off the walls of the room.

"Touchy, aren't we?" He leaned closer to her, his hands resting on either side of the arms of the chair. "You think you can just walk away from this life and never have it come back on you? It doesn't work that way."

"I never said it did."

"So you think if you rescue your long-lost twin, you'll be welcomed into that rich family with open arms, get your share of a fortune, get to live however you want."

"You think this is a job?" she said, almost laughing. "How small of you, Seth Gecko. I really had you pegged for being able to think bigger."

"What, redemption, then?" he asked scornfully. "Don't make me laugh."

She shrugged. "I was never particularly good at that, don't worry." She sighed, looked down. "Don't you think tying me up is a little extreme? I mean, what if someone comes in here? Like your friends back in that hotel room, the one you had to run from."

"I'm not untying you," he said flatly. "I don't trust you."

"And you trust Augusta?"

"She isn't you."

Xanny stared at him, considering. "Why did you sleep with her?" she asked suddenly, throwing him off balance.

"What, playing jealous ex-girlfriend now? It's none of your business."

"It's all my business, since I'm the reason you kidnapped her in the first place. Were you already sure she wasn't me when you slept with her?"

He didn't answer. He looked away, his cheek twitching up into his eye. A sure sign of discomfort.

"You already did, didn't you?" Xanny was almost smiling. "My God...Seth, I really am surprised at you. You like her."

"That's not a crime."

"You tie me up, but she gets to run around free. You must think she likes you back, deep down."

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, it matters," she said, raising her voice as he turned away. "It matters a whole fucking lot."

"Do _not _try and tell me you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm amazed. And I'm also wondering how in the hell you think this is going to turn out. You have to know it's never going to work."

He looked back at her over his shoulder, appearing mildly wounded.

"Seth," Xanny sighed, "at least untie me around the waist so I can breathe, okay? You can leave my hands and feet."

He considered, then stepped forward, reached for the duct tape and pulled some of it loose. She felt her chest expand slightly.

"Thank God," she breathed.

"No, thank me," Seth said.

Xanny smiled up at him, casually. "I would never have thought you'd go romantic, Seth. Really. I'm actually proud of you. Now, if you want to get in touch with Marcos, and arrange our ransom, you need to get into the coat pocket of my leather jacket. His cel-phone is speed dial number one. And you're going to have to give him at least 24 hours to get the money, he may be a billionaire, but he's still a human being, okay?"

%%%%%%%%%%

"Holy shit."

Marcos looked over the edge of the ravine. The tow trucks were already pulling out the broken cycle. Carl was talking to a half a dozen people at once, trying to figure out what had happened. Apparently, Xanny's plan to go talk to Seth had gone totally haywire, and wherever she was, she was without transportation.

Just then, his cel-phone rang. Marcos pulled it out. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marcos."

Marcos had once heard the expression about blood running cold. He'd never understood it until that moment. "Mr. Gecko?"

"Seth will do fine," Seth said. "I have a few people here I'm sure you'd like back. I want ten million each for them, that's twenty total. Where are you right now?"

Marcos considered lying, considering motioning to a police officer. But the thought of both Augusta and Xanny being held captive by the Geckos was enough to throw him off. He went with the truth. "At the ravine where you tossed Xanny's bike. Surrounded by cops."

"Hm." A pause. "Well, I'll call you back in two hours. Until then, you have twenty-four hours to get the money together. When I call you back I'll have a drop point ready. If you want to see these twin girls alive again, Mr. Ferarre, I suggest you get your ass in gear." And he hung up.

a/n: Thanks a1iciaxoxo! Good to know you're keeping up. And don't worry about the ending...I don't end a story until it's really over, and always give it the ending it really needs.


	16. To Tell The Truth

Sixteen: To Tell The Truth

They were back in their hotel room. They didn't know where to go. Carl was on the phone to a dozen different people, trying to get information. Marcos didn't know what he was doing---he wasn't familiar with the ins and outs of being a detective. All he knew was that the Geckos now had not only Augusta, but Xanny as well, and they wanted twenty million.

_Twenty million dollars._

Marcos shook himself out of the slightly glazed stupor he'd fallen into since he'd called in the instructions. Aunt Anette was not quite adept at that sort of thing, plus she really didn't have that kind of access to their money, so he had to call a few friends who were known to help him out of sticky situations. He'd heard the puzzlement at such a tall order---of course, it was nothing compared to the look on Carl's face when he'd told him. The very thought of being able to get a hold of twenty million in cash was stupefying. He'd heard of large amounts being demanded for hostages before, but to Carl's knowledge, the Geckos had never attempted a ransom. This was big, and it was doubtful that the boys knew fully what they were getting into.

Plus, there was the fact that twenty-million dollars was a considerable amount of money. Not something you could stuff in a briefcase. Two large suitcases, the kind that families with five children took on holidays, would be necessary, and hardly discreet. But, Carl guessed that if anybody could fill that order, it was Marcos. After all, the man was a billionaire, and Carl was quite sure that Augusta would be expected to repay him at least part of the way after she was released.

Which, Carl told himself, was going to happen. He wasn't going to start doubting Xanny now. She'd said Seth wouldn't hurt her---the mangled motorcycle hadn't been encouraging, but there was no other sign of violence, no blood---if she was maimed or worse, there would have been an indication of it. Wherever she was, Xanny was relatively unhurt. Which had to mean that Augusta was also unhurt, and just waiting on them to pay the Geckos so she could come home.

His detective's mind, who had investigated a dozen adultery cases before he'd lost his taste for that kind of sleaze, doubted that homecoming would be such a wonderful thing. Nobody with the kind of class as Augusta could be expected to be distracted by someone like Seth Gecko for long, no matter how good of a lay he was, but there would undoubtedly be consequences for her actions. Those, however, were none of his business. He wasn't in this line of work to judge other people's secrets. He was here to do a job. And get paid for it very well in the process.

Carl sat down on the bed, exhausted and worried. He rubbed his hands through his thick, straw-colored hair and looked at the phone. His worry, however, was not about Xanny, directly. It was about those mafia boys that the Geckos had gunned down in the parking lot of a previous hotel.

"Marcos," Carl said, not looking at the man, but knowing he had at least some of his attention, "remember earlier, when I was in that bar?"

After viewing the gruesome display in the hotel room, Carl had insisted that they go to the bar where Seth and Ritchie had stopped to pick up their money, and murdered the man who had stolen it from them. It was backtracking, and yes Xanny had already visited the spot, but there was something wrong in all of it that wouldn't leave Carl alone. The police had been yanked away by the harried car-chase, and there were only a few officers left to guard the scene. The paramedics had already taken away the body, but the bartender, a rather skinny, Latino man named Antonio, was worth more than any coroner's report.

"Yeah, I saw them. Both of them skinny, both white, about the same height. One was the talker, had something black on his neck, the other wore glasses, much skinnier face, chin like a witch."

"I want to know about the man they shot."

"Fuck," Antonio said with a mildly disgusted laugh, "he got off lucky. You know who he was? Teddy?"

Carl slipped him a fifty. "Tell me."

"He was married into the mob. Not anything big, but his wife, she was connected. Those guys were pissed as punch when they found out he was dead. Sure, Teddy was a little nobody, but you can't just shoot someone who's connected and expect to walk away."

Carl nodded. "I know. So that's why that little squad went after them at their hotel?"

"Wouldn't want to be those two boys," Antonio said with a metallic grin.

"What if I told you all those guys who went after them are dead?"

Antonio turned white, then gray. He leaned closer to Carl, his breath smelling like rotted salami. "You sure?"

"Saw it myself," Carl said, not flinching.

"_Fuuuuck_, man," Antonio said, eyes wide but not looking at him. "Fuck."

"What?"

"I hope to Christ that Salvador wasn't with them," he said.

"Salvador?"

Antonio shook his head. "Way up, man. He was good friends with Teddy, little piece of shit that he was. Teddy saved his life some time back, don't know the story from the bullshit Teddy tells, but it happened. Salvador probably went himself to handle it. If he's dead..." Antonio let out his breath between puckered lips and shook his head. "Those boys are worse than dead."

"Mafia?" Marcos asked. "You're serious?"

"Why in the fuck would I joke about a thing like that?" Carl said. "I've been on the phone all goddam afternoon trying to find out if it was that guy Salvador the bartender was talking about, if he was with that hit squad. I can't get diddly shit, which means we have a major set of wild cards that we don't know about. We can't predict how this is going to go down."

"So it's possible that Salvador wasn't involved and we have nothing to worry about?" Marcos said.

Carl shook his head. "Unlikely. Even if he wasn't there, no doubt he's gonna be pissed that two little white guys took out his squad. They could be outside their hotel rooms right now and we wouldn't know shit until it happened."

"This whole thing just gets worse and worse," Marcos said, his voice going weak. Carl stood up, crossed the room, towered over him. Marcos had a good deal of bulk on Carl's skinny frame, but he was cowering like a kitten.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Carl snapped. "When I first met you, you were a crocodile with big sharp teeth, you had everything under control, you looked like the kind of man people feared. I used your name, people did whatever I wanted. And now we hit rough waters and you puss out on me? What gives?"

Marcos shook his head, looked away, pale. "It's too real...behind a desk, there aren't any faces-"

At that moment, Carl slapped him. A hard slap that couldn't have been more forceful if he'd used a closed fist. Marcos snapped to the side and the came back, like a child's punching toy.

"Grow the hell up!" Carl shouted. "Where the fuck are you balls? The woman you love is in danger and you look like you're ready to burst into tears!"

Marcos glared at him and stood up. "You don't know a fucking thing about me and Xanny, so shut your fucking pie-hole!"

Carl stared at him. Xanny? He was like this over _Xanny?_ Bloody hell. "At least now I know you've got something down your pants other than your wallet," he sneered. "Get on your cel-phone and get that money here faster. I've got a few more calls to make. And whatever the fuck you do, don't start moping again."

%%%%%%%%%%

Like he'd promised, two hours after he made the first call, and now wearing his dry pants, Seth pressed the speed dial on Xanny's cel-phone again.

"So how's my fucking money coming along?"

"I'm on the other line, still trying to get it here," came Marcos' voice, and the man sounded distinctly different than before. The first time, Seth had imagined some stringy wall-street guy, someone who couldn't even carry his own briefcase, but there was a dark tone in his voice now, a bit of steel that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was just leftovers from bossing around his workers to get him the cash.

"I want twenties and fifties," Seth said.

There was a shocked pause. "Are you kidding? You know how much that kind of money would be? I mean, the physical size of it? You want me to bring that to you in a U-haul?"

"Listen to Mr. Smart-mouth, negotiating for his fiancée's life. No love lost between you two, huh?"

Seth looked to Augusta, who had been pretty much mute the whole time, on the couch. Seth didn't like it. She was too quiet. Her face had gone all stony again, and he couldn't read her. It made him uncomfortable.

"Let me talk to her," Marcos said. "I want to be sure you haven't hurt her."

"Oh, I've hurt her, just not how you think." Where in the fuck had his brain gone? It certainly wasn't behind his mouth at that moment. But he did get the reaction from her he wanted---she glanced up at him in a panic.

"Bastard," Marcos spat.

"I really would reconsider calling me names," Seth said, his voice a loaded gun.

"And I would reconsider agitating the man who's getting you your twenty million dollars," Marcos shot back.

"Sorry, I don't have the slick negotiating skills of your business men. I prefer sticking a knife in someone who's looking at me."

"Seth," came Augusta's voice, more of a sharp breath than a voice. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked her.

"Is that Augusta?" came Marcos' voice. "Please, let me talk to her. I need to know she's okay."

"Let me talk to him," Augusta said, raising her hand.

"Okay, you want to tell him you've been shagging me?" Seth had extended the phone out to her, and maybe Marcos hadn't heard him. The look on Augusta's face sure didn't think that. She reached out, snatched the phone.

"Marcos?" she said, her voice trembling only slightly.

"Gus," came Marcos' voice. Seth sat down beside her on the couch, leaning close, listening to every word, glaring at Augusta the whole time. She tried to look away but her awareness of him was beyond just vision. "Gus, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Xanny's here too, you know."

"Yeah, I heard. Is she okay?"

"She's...fine." No, it was no good. Augusta wasn't in enough control of herself to lie convincingly to Marcos, and the hesitation gave her away.

"Where is she?" Marcos demanded, his voice much more panicked than before.

"She's here, like I said," Augusta said. "In the other room. You know that she's my twin sister?"

"Yeah, I know, Aunt Anette figured it out before any of us. Maybe she should be down here, too, huh? I know she's worried sick about you."

"Aunt Annie's fine, I'm sure," Augusta said, smiling a little.

"But what about Xanny? You keep saying she's fine...can I talk to her?"

"She's in the other room. She's tied up at the moment."

A pause. "Christ."

"Don't, Marcos. Xanny's tough, they had to confine her. She wouldn't cooperate."

"Not like you, anyway," came Seth's voice, loud enough for Marcos to hear it.

"Augusta, what the fuck is going on there?" Marcos demanded.

"Tell him, 'Gus,'" Seth spat. "Tell him you were willing to give me a blow job before to protect your long lost twin sister."

"Fuck you," she mouthed at him.

"Gus, I want to talk to Xanny," Marcos insisted. "Please."

"He seems to care more about Xanny than you," Seth said, still loud enough.

"You'll have to ask Seth," Augusta said to Marcos, and then shoved the phone at Seth so hard that he almost dropped it. She got up and stormed out of the room, into the other room, before Seth could stop her. It didn't matter, though---Ritchie was in there, keeping guard.

"Sorry, Marcos, only one hostage per phone call," Seth said, almost cheerful. "Now, I want you to come to a little town called Keystone. Tiny little spot. Just west of the exit there's a truck stop there, with a shack behind it that doubles as an adult bookstore. Behind it is where I want you to make the drop, in the front seat of the abandoned car. Augusta and Xanny will be waiting for you in the trunk."

"Fine. When?"

"Let's see...I gave you twenty-four hours with the money, didn't I? Well, let's make it...midnight tomorrow. That should give you a little extra time. And you know all the standard threats, so I won't bore you with that shit. Be a good boy and bring the money, Marcos, and you'll get to see your honey in one piece again---both of them."

Seth hung up.

%%%%%%%%%%

"Why are you so mean?" Augusta asked him, coming back as he slammed the receiver into place.

He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Since I tried to escape your asshole factor has quadrupled," Augusta snapped.

"Well, that's what happens when you break one of my rules. I told you not to run."

"Well, excuse me for being human!" Augusta screeched, causing Seth to take a step back. "I'm so sorry to fucking disappoint you, Mr. Gecko, but there is a little instinct you seem to be forgetting about called SELF-PRESERVATION!"

He closed the distance between them, the phone forgotten on the floor where the dropped it. "And when the fuck have I ever threatened to hurt you? Have I done a goddam thing to you? When in any of this have you ever been threatened?"

"The fact that I'm here at all is a big, major, fucking threat," she thundered.

"Oh, like you weren't enjoying yourself before."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!" she screamed. "You've got me so turned around I don't know fucking shit anymore!" She deflated, not reducing into tears, but just all the air slipping out of her, slumping her shoulders where she sat.

"Well, that is how it's supposed to be," Seth said. "We aren't living in a little fantasy, after all."

"No, we're not," she said, giving him a brief glance with her small-voiced answer before going mute again.

%%%%%%%%%%

Ritchie had his back to her. Something that very few people knew about her, even Seth, as she had kept it a secret from him, was that her hands and wrists were double jointed. It had gotten her out of handcuffs a few times in the past, until she'd decided to cooperate with the law and turn over a new leaf---what a stupid expression, she thought to herself.

Ritchie had taped her bare skin to the arm of the chair, which meant that the large cuff of her leather jacket was puffed over her hand, like a snake coming out of a dark cave. She twisted her wrist around, ignoring the pain of the stick pulling at the fine hairs on her skin. She even ignored the small bits of flesh that seemed to want to come off her bones as she moved. She just pushed forward until there was enough room for her to turn her hand all the way around.

She reached with her fingers until she managed to grab the cuff of the jacket between her finger and thumb. She felt a delicate prick on her skin, knew she was close---she pulled harder, squeezing the leather, then moving her fingers farther back to push it forward.

The razor blade glinted in the dull lamp light of the room. One never knew when one would need a very sharp object, and no better place to hide it than right by her hand.

Pulling the blade out, she untwisted her wrist and pulled her hand back. She had to be so careful---the sound of the tape tearing would give her away. She had to do something to cover it up.

"Ritchie?" she called. "Hey, Rich."

He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Could you turn up the TV?" She had palmed the razor blade so he couldn't see it. It lightly sliced her skin, an obvious danger but not a serious one.

"Why?" he asked.

"That fall fucked up my head," she said, using her usual attitude with him---playing nice would just make him suspicious. "I can't hear too well."

"You could hear Seth just fine before," Ritchie said.

"Seth yells," Xanny pointed out. "Come on, Rich. Please, just a few notches. Not loud enough to bother the neighbors, I'm not trying to pull any of that shit."

He considered her request, and in a few minutes he pressed the volume so that it went up by two bars. He was watching an old episode of CHIPS.

Gently, so gently that she wouldn't even risk him hearing it, she brought her hand back so that the razor blade just pressed against the edge of the silver-gray duct tape. She moved it back and forth lightly, just enough to cut through it but not quickly. She had to take her time. If she made too much noise, no matter if the TV was louder to cover it up, she was blown, and Seth might be pissed enough to let Ritchie slap her around. She never would have really believed it of him before, but she knew she'd pushed her luck too far. She hadn't been completely honest with Carl when she'd assured him Seth would never hurt her. Piss off any man enough and they became unpredictable, and Seth was more volatile than most.

The first wrist came free rather easily. She wondered how she was going to do her feet without being obvious. She moved the blade to the other hand, repeating the process. It might be faster if she just tore herself loose, but the seconds it would take for her to really tear the tape would buy Ritchie enough time to get Seth in here, and she would be overpowered by sheer numbers.

Then she heard screaming in the next room. Augusta and Seth were going at it. Xanny strained her ears to her, but sure as shit the television was muffling the words. All the could hear was the voices.

Maybe it was enough.

Ritchie looked toward the door, slightly alarmed. Then, he went back to the television, shrugging it off. Xanny got her other wrist free. She sat there for a minute, her wrists still appearing to be tied to the chair, as the tape still stuck to the back of her arms. Now for the feet...how in the hell was she going to get her feet untied?

At that moment, Seth threw open the door and stepped into the room. He glared at her briefly, not noticing her wrists, and as he walked over to Ritchie, she shrugged slightly, causing the sleeves of her jacket to fall down a little more, giving her extra coverage.

"I'm going to go get dinner," Seth snapped. "I've got to get out of here. These bitches are driving me fucking nuts."

Ritchie looked up at him, smiled understandingly. "Burgers, Seth," he said. "I want some meat."

"Fine," Seth said, taking the keys from the table where Ritchie had set them and heading back toward the door again.

"Hey, I have to pee!" Xanny said, trying a long-shot.

Seth snorted. "Go in your pants, I don't give a shit."

"You will when you have to smell it," Xanny said. "Come on, please? I've been tied to this chair how long?"

"We could always put the trash can underneath the chair," Ritchie suggested.

"It's solid underneath," Seth said, as if he actually considered it. He gave her a look of disgust that Xanny didn't entirely feel she deserved. Then again, he and Augusta had been having a screaming match, no doubt some of his frustration was spilling over.

"Seth!" Xanny pleaded, shaking her knees for effect. "Come on!"

"If you think I'm going to fucking untie you from that chair---"

"Then don't untie me. Undo my pants, pull off my chaps and jeans, shove a towel under me, I don't give a shit. Make Augusta clean it up when I'm done. I've got to pee, right now!"

Seth looked down at her, then gave her a distinctly evil look. "Ritchie, she wants someone to take off her pants and shove a towel under her. What do you think?"

Ritchie looked from Xanny to Seth, unsure.

"I'll get the towel, you get her pants?" Seth suggested.

Ritchie stood up, unsure. "I don't know, Seth---"

"She's tied to that chair, what the fuck is she gonna do?"

Ritchie sighed, shrugged, walked over to her as Seth went for the towel. His hand was on her pants buckle for only a second before her own hand slipped toward his crotch and pulled out the gun he had temporarily holstered there. Seth didn't see a thing, as he was still in the process of getting a towel.

"Why do you men always shove your guns down your pants?" Xanny hissed as she pressed the gun to Ritchie's chin. "You're gonna blow your dick off someday---but then again, I guess it's no loss. Now untie my legs."

"No."

"I'll shoot you," she threatened.

"You won't. Seth would kill you."

"Then I'll shoot him," she snarled. "He's pissed me off enough."

Ritchie seemed to consider seeing if she'd carry though her threat, but just then Seth walked back into the room. The towel dropped at his feet.

"............shit."

Xanny reached out, grabbed Ritchie's collar, holding him in place. She cocked the gun. "Remember what I told you about why I left, Seth? Perfect chance for revenge...or you could tell him to untie my feet."

Seth glared at her, murder in his face. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Untie her, Ritchie."

"But Seth---"

"_Do it_!"

Ritchie's fingers reached down, fumbled with the tape, and there was sharp pain as her legs, which hadn't been shaved in a few days, suffered the loss of several hairs as the tape came away.

"Good." She stood up, turning Ritchie around, pointing the gun at his temple. "Augusta!" she shouted.

Augusta appeared in the doorway. "Not fucking _again_," she moaned.

"Sorry, sweetie. But this time we get to furlough them without a car, so I don't think there will be any more chases today."

Augusta sighed heavily. "Fine. Seth, throw me the keys." She extended her hand. He turned his murderous glare on her. "Hey, don't give me that shit! She's got the gun, she's calling the shots. She's my sister, what do you expect? Besides, we're not going to turn you in, we're not going to take your money, we just wanna go home. Okay?"

Seth, still seething, hesitated, but then threw her the keys. She went to the door. "You gonna follow?"

"In a minute," Xanny said. "Go start the car."

Augusta opened the door. She was promptly seized and spun around, a gun to her head, just like Ritchie. The keys dropped at her feet, useless.

Xanny spun around, not losing her grip on Ritchie, knowing the second she even showed hesitation, Ritchie would turn on her and it would be over, she would be dead. Or worse, considering it was Ritchie. But even Ritchie was taken aback by the sight of the man holding Augusta.

"Well, looks like the party is just starting," the man said.

A/N: Ritchie and Augusta? As if. (grin)


	17. Private Hells

Standard Disclaimer

A/N: Short but VERY IMPORTANT chapter!

Seventeen: Private Hells

Xanny tightened her grip on the fabric around Ritchie's neck. He had turned his head, watching the newcomer, as if Xanny wasn't even there, with a gun to his head. Seth, for his part, had managed to get out his own pistol, but had no idea which way to turn it.

The man was their age, maybe just a little bit older. Smooth features, thick black hair that curled around his head and a little down his neck, a pleasant smile, white T-shirt and jeans, nothing threatening about him, other than the fact that he had his long, muscular arm wrapped tightly around Augusta's neck, and a gun pointed at her temple.

"Well," he said, stepping into the room, using his foot to push the door shut behind him, "I guess since no one is ready to introduce themselves, I'll start. I'm Salvador. Now, you must be Seth Gecko," he said, looking at Seth, "and you're Ritchie," toward Xanny's hostage. He looked to Xanny. "Not quite sure about you two girls, though. Although you look familiar." This was directly at Xanny. "Do I know you?"

Xanny held tight to Ritchie's neck. She pressed the gun a little closer to his head, even as she was looking at Salvador, and said, "I don't think so."

"You sure? You seem awfully familiar."

"Maybe I just look like the girl you're threatening to shoot," Xanny said, keeping her voice level. "She's my sister."

"Twin," Augusta managed.

"Ah," Salvador said, casually, as if they were chatting at an office Christmas party. "No, that isn't it. Were you in a women's correctional facility in Chicago? My sister was there, Rosemary was her name...ring a bell?"

"Rosemary was my cel-mate," Xanny managed, glancing briefly at Seth, making sure he was keeping his distance. The look of utter confusion mingled with barely suppressed rage was almost amusing at that moment.

"My sister," Salvador said with a smile. "Yeah, I remember now. But your hair was kind of a dull red then, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Listen, um...Salvador? I'm sorry to be rude, but we're in the middle of something, so could you tell us why exactly you're holding a gun to my sister's head?"

"Oh," as if he'd forgotten what he was doing, although his body certainly hadn't, as its grip never wavered, "I'm sorry to be rude, but my business is with these guys," he gestured briefly with the gun to Ritchie and Seth. "Seems like you have business with them, too."

"Kind of. Do you think, maybe, since your business is with them that maybe you could not put a gun to my sister's head?" she asked, keeping it polite without being too sweet about it.

Salvador smiled briefly. He had the kind of smile that only came with teeth-whitening treatment. "I would in a heartbeat, um...."

"Xanny."

"Xanny, but Seth over there seems to be hesitating about aiming his gun at me as long as I keep this gun on her, so I'm going to have to say, no, not right now."

"You know I watched Rosemary's back," Xanny said, a little sharply.

"Yeah, she spoke highly of you. And I'm really sorry, but if it's this sister of yours or me, you're going to have to understand my decision." Suddenly his dark eyes turned hard and he was glaring at Seth. "Now, Mr. Gecko, if you would please put your gun down."

"Considering the circumstances, you'll understand if I tell you to go to hell," Seth said, amazingly calm.

Salvador smiled again, charmingly. "I figured. Well, this is certainly a bit of a mess."

"Yeah," Seth said. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Salvador," Xanny said, glancing at Seth. "Weren't you listening?"

Seth opened his mouth to snarl a reply, but caught Ritchie's eye, and said, "No, I mean, what in the hell are you doing here? What do you want with us?"

"You remember Teddy, don't you?" Salvador said.

"Yeah," Seth said.

"He was a cousin of mine," Salvador said.

"Yeah, and?"

"And you killed him."

"Well, he did try to steal my brother's and my money," Seth said, very rationally.

Salvador shrugged. "I know, Teddy wasn't the most honest guy in the world, but he was family, and I can't let family just be blown away by a couple of shitheads like you and not do anything about it. Plus there was the fact that those boys of mine I sent after you were good friends, taking care of business for me, and you killed all of them."

"It was us or them, friend," Seth said, a bit harder. "I'm sure you can understand."

"Yeah, but still. It doesn't look good for me to let something like that go. Besides, what do I care about either one of you? Teddy was family, that makes him under my protection. Maybe if you'd bothered to find out a few of his connections, I could have taken care of the whole mess for you without all of this shit going down."

"Wait a minute," Ritchie said, his voice a bit more anxious than his usual calm tones, "those mafia boys were yours?"

"Yep," Salvador said. "I would have been with them if I hadn't had a previous appointment."

"But...you're Latin," Ritchie pointed out. "Teddy was Latin. Those boys were, well, they were...."

"Italian," Salvador confirmed. "I'm Latin on my mom's side, Italian on my dad's. I know I look a lot more like my mom, but still, blood is blood, and it's a lot thicker than water."

"Well, this is all very informative," Xanny said, still polite, "but I think we need to worry more about the immediate problem. Now, Salvador, if I can get Seth to put down his gun, will you take your gun off my sister?"

"I'll consider it," Salvador said.

"The only way I'm putting my gun down, Xanny," Seth snapped at her, "is if you take yours off of Ritchie."

"I can deal with that. But you'd better push your gun this way, because I'm not letting go of Ritchie unless he promises to get is ass across the room. Otherwise I'll be forced to hurt him."

"You hear her, Ritchie?" Seth said.

"Yeah," Ritchie muttered.

"You first, Seth," Xanny said.

"Yeah, Seth, you first," Salvador said.

"No way," Seth said.

"Fuck," Xanny muttered. She let go of Ritchie, shoved him from her as hard as she could. She pointed the gun at Seth. "NOW will you?" she snarled.

Seth tossed the gun down on the bed, it bounced briefly and Xanny had to reach for it. She heard a click, looked up and realized that Salvador had turned his gun from Augusta's head to Ritchie, and then to Seth, just to make sure.

Xanny reached the gun, pulled it back, stepped a bit closer to Salvador. "Your turn," she said.

Salvador let go of Augusta, who promptly flew at Xanny. Xanny caught her and set her down in the chair she had previously occupied.

"Okay," Salvador said, "now that that's taken care of---"

"Wait," Augusta said, recovering her breath and standing back up again. "What happens now?"

The Geckos glared at her from across the room. Xanny said, "What do you think, Augusta?"

"Mr. Salvador---"

"Just Salvador."

"Salvador," Augusta corrected herself, "look, you seem like a very rational... person. I'm sure we can work something out." She stepped closer to him, being careful not to get in his line of fire. Xanny put her gun on Ritchie and Seth, just to be sure they wouldn't try anything stupid.

Seth let out a disdainful noise. "What the fuck?" he said. "Xanny, you aren't going to shoot me."

"No, but I'll shoot Ritchie," Xanny said without blinking.

"I'll shoot you, Seth," Salvador said, with a nearly charming smile. He looked back at Augusta. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, there was no way for Seth and Ritchie to know about Teddy's connections with you. I'm sure they would have come to you if they'd known. And Teddy did steal from them. I mean, can you blame them for what they did? Really?"

"Not really," Salvador said with a sigh. "But still, you have to understand the thing about keeping face. I don't do this and my own reputation suffers, and that can't happen."

"I'm sure," Augusta said, and suddenly Xanny saw how all the years of being around Marcos was starting to pay off. "Look, those guys who attacked us at that hotel? They were going to shoot me as well, and I didn't do anything to your cousin. And I have a few connections myself, and then you would have had to deal with them, and on and on and on, and it would have just been a bloodbath. Can't we be rational people about this and negotiate something?"

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking an even ten million," Augusta said. "For them. For Seth and Ritchie. Compensation for the loss of manpower, apologies for the loss of your cousin. That's a considerable amount of money."

"Yeah, it is." He didn't seem terribly impressed, though.

"Augusta, what in the fuck are you doing?" Xanny hissed.

"Shut up, Xanny," Augusta said calmly. "I know what I'm doing."

"I don't know," Salvador said. "How can I trust you?"

"You can trust me," Xanny said, backing up Augusta in spite of the insanity of it. "Remember, your sister and everything?"

Salvador seemed to be considering. "These two get the hell out of the area and never come back. I'm talking Mexico."

"Fine," Augusta said, glancing briefly at the stunned brothers over her shoulder. "Fine, they were planning on that anyway."

"Only one problem," Salvador said. "How do we remove ourselves from this situation quietly?"

Augusta turned around. "Seth, are you paying attention?" she snapped.

"Absolutely," he answered.

"You're going to let us go. You're going to let us walk away from this. Salvador too. We'll just give him the money Marcos was getting ready to give to you---I'm sure by now he's got some of it. Salvador, you'll be my personal hero if you'll escort Xanny and myself back to our hotel. Wherever it is."

Salvador let out a little snort. "This is too easy," he said.

"You call this easy?" Xanny asked. "Easy would be to shoot everybody."

"I don't trust these boys," Salvador said.

"You got me there," Xanny said, sighing.

"Seth, give me your word you'll get your asses out of here and into Texas," Augusta said. "Otherwise, I'm just going to let Salvador shoot you."

Seth stared at them. For once in her life, Xanny had no idea what he was thinking. Whether he was frustrated that the girls were going to get away, furious that he was being threatened, or grateful that Augusta had somehow managed to save his and Ritchie's lives, she didn't know.

"Come on, Seth," Xanny said. "It's over. Let's just all go back to our own private hells, okay?"

Seth looked at her, meeting her eyes. He was not happy, but he seemed to be resolved to the situation. After all, there were guns pointed at him by people who seemed quite willing and able to kill him.

"Fine," he said.

"Your word, Seth," Augusta said.

"You have my word, Augusta," Seth said, even more calmly. "You guys leave, we leave. It's over."

"Good," Augusta said, "I'd kiss you goodbye, but under the circumstances, you'll have to understand why I don't."

Xanny raised her eyebrows in surprise as Augusta walked past them and out the door. "Come on!" she called from the sidewalk.

Xanny and Salvador looked at each other. Xanny shrugged, nodded at him, and Salvador backed out. She heard him going to the car, opening the doors. She looked at the Geckos one last time.

"Sorry, guys," she said as she backed out. "I really didn't mean for it to go down like this. Seth," and he met her eyes again, "I am sorry, you know. If I hurt you. It was never my intention."

He just nodded. She shut the hotel room door, dropped his and Ritchie's guns on the step outside the door, and climbed into the backseat of Salvador's car.

"Why did you do that?" Augusta asked.

"I can't take their guns away completely," Xanny said. "Come on, we have to leave them with some dignity."

Salvador chuckled. "That's classy, Xanny. Rosemary told me you had a lot of class."

"Must be the blood," Xanny said, smiling at Augusta. Salvador was a very nice man, she thought as they chatted on their way back to where Carl and Marcos were no doubt worrying for their lives. It was too bad he was a gangster. Xanny had had enough of gangsters to last her a lifetime.

A/N: Don't worry, it's not over yet.


	18. It's Never Over

Eighteen: It's Never Over

"What do you mean, you can only get ten million?" Carl snapped. "You're a _billionaire_, can't you take out your own money without being asked a ton of stupid questions?"

"I can get the other ten, but it's going to take longer to clear than the twenty-four hour window they've given us," Marcos explained, pale and haggard as he was, attempting to control the situation.

"We only have until midnight tomorrow---"

"Let me explain to you how banks operate," Marcos snapped, stepping closer to Carl, who might have had a few inches of height on him, but his shoulder span was nothing compared to Marcos' natural width. "They only keep a certain amount of cash on hand. In order for me to get the first ten million, I have to special order it, because they'll have to clear out not only their own reserve but probably the reserves of another branch in town, without completely cutting off the cash flow to the common customer---which means we don't get all of it, just most of it. Which could mean more than just two banks having to chip in, like three, four or five. That means a lot of people get involved with this process. No, they don't ask too many questions if you're well-connected enough, but when you ask for another ten, which they have to request from more branches, or possibly go right to the mint for it, they raise a few eyebrows, and it tends to slow you down. I've got the first ten on its way already---but the other ten might be a little late."

"Fucking great," Carl spat. At that moment, Marcos' phone rang again. "Maybe that's good news," he said, although his tone said just the opposite.

"Marcos?" It was a very familiar voice, one he hadn't heard in too long.

"Xanny?"

"Tell Carl we're on our way home. Hey, you got that ten million?"

"It will be here in an hour," Marcos said. "The other half---"

"Forget about that. We're coming to you. Where are you?"

"Still in Oklahoma, at our hotel in Dixon. We haven't moved, in case you were able to get back."

"Well, I am, and Augusta is with me."

"What? How?"

Carl stepped closer. "Is that Xanny?"

"Yeah," Marcos said, stepping back. "Where are you?"

"In a car, on the highway. Don't worry, we're on our way to you. It'll probably be a while, though, five or six hours."

Marcos heard a male voice in the background. "Four. I like to go fast."

Xanny chuckled. "Who is that?" Marcos demanded.

"Don't worry about it, just have the money ready." Xanny's voice was light, he could tell that whatever had happened, she was obviously getting a kick out of it, so it couldn't be terribly serious. "You want to talk to Augusta?"

"Oh, yeah, please," Marcos said, blushing to think he hadn't asked it first. He heard the sound of the phone being passed.

"Hi Marcos," came Augusta's voice, sounding infinitely more tired than Xanny's. You guys okay? You get the money?"

"Half of it," Marcos said.

"Don't worry about it, babe, I'll cover it and pay you back. You know, I have to admit, I'm surprised you came along on this little rescue mission. We'll have to compare adventures when I get back."

"Augusta, are you sure this is you? You actually sound like you're in a good mood."

"Shut up. Call Auntie for me, okay? She'll want to know I'm all right. You didn't tell her about the ransom, did you?"

"Well, it was hard to keep from her completely, but I kept her as much in the dark as I could."

"Good. I don't want to have to hear about this from her. I'll talk to her when I have the energy." He could hear her smiling. "You want me to give the phone back to Xanny?"

"Um...well, I think Carl wants to talk to her."

"Okay." He heard the phone exchange hands again. He heard Xanny in the background say, "Me again? What's he want?" And Augusta gave some answer he couldn't quite make out. Then her voice, "Marcos? What's up?"

"Uh, Carl want to talk to you." Marcos shoved the phone at Carl, ignoring the funny look he got for it, and went to go lie down on the bed.

This was totally unbelievable.

%%%%%%%%%%

"Well, that's that," Xanny sighed, slapping the flip-phone shut. "All neat and tidy."

Augusta just nodded, feeling her eyelids weighed about ten pounds each. She wished she could just put her head back and close them, but didn't. She glanced at Salvador, wondered if she should have given Xanny shotgun. At the time it really hadn't seemed important.

"I really appreciate what you're doing," Augusta said to him, her tones low, confidential.

He shot a smile at her. He really was rather charming, in a Benjamin Bratt sort of way. If you went for that kind of thing. "Well, you are paying rather well for it."

"Yeah, I know." She looked at him, her doubt probably showing. She had gotten lazy at hiding things lately, knowing Seth wouldn't stand for it and get pissed at her, too. He met her gaze, knowingly.

"You know, I am considering what I'm doing for you as a favor, Miss Baxton," he said.

"You know who I am?" Although it hardly surprised her.

"Saw it all on the news," Salvador said. "Although I have to admit that I didn't quite make the connection to the boys I was chasing. Although I should have, duh, how many Gecko brothers are there in this world?"

"Too many," Augusta said with a smirk.

He nodded. "Well, I know who you are, Miss Baxton, and your fiancée, Mr. Ferarre. I sort of figured it might be nice to have you two owe me a favor."

"Not too big of a favor, I hope," she said, her stomach tightening.

"Don't worry, I promise not to get you sent to hell. Although you might have done that to yourself already."

Augusta blushed deeply. If she was that obvious, she was going to lock herself in her house for a month and see absolutely no one, especially anyone who even remotely resembled someone from the press.

"I just hope you'll remember my good deed sometime in the future," Salvador continued.

"I will," Augusta assured him, "but don't bother Marcos about it---Mr. Ferarre. It really isn't his problem."

"Isn't it?"

"No." She sighed, glanced at Xanny in the back seat, who was absorbed in her own thoughts as she watched the flying countryside. "Things aren't going to be the same when I get back," she said, more to herself than him.

"No, they aren't," Salvador said sympathetically. "Things like this are never over, not really. It changes you, I guess."

"You're pretty astute for a gangster," Augusta said with a smile. "Ever considered a career in psychology?"

"I do have my college degree," he said. "Psychology does pay pretty well, doesn't it? Charging people a hundred dollars an hour to tell them pure common sense. Hardly like working. Eh, I'm just keeping my dad happy for a while, until my older brother gets out and can take over again. Don't worry about it, Augusta, the ten million will probably be more than enough to keep everybody happy."

She nodded. "That's good to know." She leaned back, let out a deep sigh. "If you're ever looking for a job once you start up your psychology practice, give me a call."

"Bet on it," he said, with another charming smile.

%%%%%%%%%%

It was very late when they arrived back in Dixon, and Augusta was too zoned out to do much more than hand the briefcase over to Salvador, in spite of Marcos' puzzled objection.

"A reward," Xanny told him, "we arranged it."

"But who is he?" Marcos asked, looking at Salvador with suspicion, which the other man took in stride.

"A good friend," Augusta said. "Just trust me, Marcos. It's my money now, anyway." She gave Salvador the briefcase. "Thanks. My card is in the case."

Salvador took it, shook hands with her, and exchanged a more casual goodbye with Xanny, knocking fists together, before getting into his car and taking off.

"I don't believe this," Carl said. "Do you know what you just did?"

"Probably better than you," Augusta said to Carl, noticing him for the first time. She looked up at Marcos. "I want to go to bed. _Now_."

"Sure," Marcos said, putting an arm around her. "You want a shower first?"

"Bed. Alone." She pecked his cheek, went into the other room and pulled the door shut. The men turned and looked at Xanny.

"Stressful day," Xanny said. "I could really use that shower, though. And I'll share the room with her tonight. We'll go home first thing in the morning."

"Fine," Carl said, sitting down in one of the chairs in what had just become his room. "Whatever."

Xanny looked at Marcos, who had let Augusta go without any objection to her request. He looked back at her, smiling.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem," she said, walking toward the same door. He stopped her before she could open it, his hand on her arm. "I promise I'll be quiet and not bother her," Xanny said.

"It's not that," Marcos said. "You know you're one of the family now, don't you? I mean, even though all of this is over, you don't have to leave."

"I'll talk to Augusta tomorrow, see what she wants to do---"

"What about you? What do you want to do?"

Xanny shrugged. "I can't say the money won't be nice, but I don't want to cause trouble. Marcos, it's too late and it's been too wild of a day---too wild of a couple of days---to talk about this. We can discuss it later, can't we?"

"Yeah." He bent down, pecked her cheek the way Augusta had pecked his, and then paused.

Their eyes met.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" Marcos whispered.

"Like I said, I'm going to talk to your fiancée," she whispered back, putting the stress on the last word as if to remind him of something. But she didn't pull away. They kept looking at each other.

Carl cleared his throat. They pulled back, startled. Xanny went into the other room. Marcos found himself yet again attempting to ignore Carl's looks. He decided to go to bed at that moment, as well.

%%%%%%%%%%

It was midnight, and they were still driving.

When Seth had opened the door to his hotel room, it had been in time to see Salvador's car disappear around the corner, and nearly trip on his own gun, which had been laid on the threshold of his door. Ritchie's as well. He picked them up quickly, brought them back inside, was impressed to find them both still loaded.

"So what are we going to do?" Ritchie asked.

"Get the hell out of here," Seth said. "Get the briefcase."

They got into their car and headed for the highway, west, in the opposite direction as Salvador's crew. Seth let Ritchie drive after they stopped for dinner, at some god-forsaken hole where only truckers and bikers hung out, which Seth rather liked for its depressing, dark atmosphere, but took back over again when Ritchie said he was tired and wanted to stop.

"Where are we going?"

"As far south as we can get, into Texas," Seth said.

The entire time, he'd been playing the events of the last several hours over and over in his head. The worst of it was not his confrontation with Xanny. In fact, that had explained so much, he hardly cared anymore. It was Augusta who was bugging him.

Augusta, who had paid ten million to a gangster to save his and Ritchie's life.

Augusta, who could have simply let Salvador and probably Xanny shoot them both without feeling any guilt, as she had been their hostage, after all, and fair was fair.

Augusta, who had said she wanted to give him a kiss goodbye, but had been unable to, given the circumstances. At least, that was how he'd heard it. Had he heard it wrong?

Bottom line, he felt depressed, humiliated, and nauseous. If he never looked at another woman again, it would be too soon. His pride told him he couldn't just let those girls walk out of his life, but something else, something he didn't recognize, but was, in actuality, his conscience, told him to let it go, that they were even, and all was right with the world again. And there was his common sense that said if he pushed his luck, that gangster, who was probably already annoyed at having to drive out so far to take care of business, was going to kill them. Mafia were so different than cops. Cops they could run from. Cops had rules and routines. Mafia were crazy bastards. If he'd known Teddy was connected to mafia, he probably would have done things a little differently. Like, not have shot him, just injured him a bit. Or a lot.

He'd gotten off lucky and he knew it. But that didn't make him feel better.

He knew what would make him feel better.

"Ritchie, how much do we have in that case?"

"About thirty."

"What if we tripled it?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we rip Texas up one side and down the other. Take as many banks as we can before we head off into Mexico. What do you say?"

"It sounds a lot more fun than sitting around in hotel rooms holding girls hostage," Ritchie said with a smirk.

"Yeah, doesn't it?"

So that's what they did.

%%%%%%%%%%

Xanny felt like she had washed away the world when she took that shower. She hadn't realized how filthy she'd gotten, sliding down that ravine, and then being dragged up again. It felt like such a long time ago, but it hadn't been, not really. Maybe only yesterday afternoon. Who knew anymore?

She slipped into the oversize T-shirt she had packed and that thankfully Carl had dragged dutifully along with him as he followed her over the states. It felt so wonderful at that moment, like a baptism cloth. She pulled back the heavy covers and slid inside, settled herself, and reached over to turn off the light.

"He likes you, you know."

It was Augusta. She had apparently woken up, and while her voice was drowsy, her words were crystal clear.

"Who?"

"Marcos." Augusta opened her eyes and looked at her, smiling.

"Well, we have been in rather close quarters lately, and he's been very kind to me---"

"That's not what I mean." Augusta raised her head. "He likes you."

"I don't..."

"_Likes you_, likes you." She smirked. "Really, really likes you."

Xanny suddenly felt uncomfortable. "I'm...sorry?"

"Don't be," Augusta said, her smile widening. "Actually, it makes things easier."

"Easier?" She paused. "You're not going to---"

"I was going to before all this shit happened, I just didn't know how," Augusta said, sounding a little more awake. She let out a heavy sigh. "Marcos and I...we just don't connect. I mean, everything else is there, but we have no spark." She looked at Xanny. "I was in the room with you two five minutes and I saw spark."

"Well, having been around Seth for a while, you know what kind of man I'm used to. Marcos is a breath of fresh air."

"I know." Augusta was still smiling. "You know, I may give him the chance to break up with me first. Just to put your mind at ease."

"That's going to put my mind at ease?"

"Knowing you aren't a rebound, knowing he's not going for you because you have my face. I can see all of those thoughts in your head. He didn't get attached to you because of me, Xanny. I've known you twenty-four hours, maybe, and I already see how different we are. He's known you longer. And Marcos is one of those people who knows how he feels very quickly. He's probably worried about hurting me."

"Then maybe you should break up with him," Xanny suggested, feeling uneasy for saying it.

Augusta shrugged. "I'll work something out." She lay back down, pulling the covers more tightly around her. "You mad at me about Seth?"

"No." She didn't say it too fast or too slow, but felt it still wasn't enough. "I mean, yeah, I'm upset about everything, but about you sleeping with him? I feel sorry for you more than anything."

"Why? He was great."

Xanny nearly choked. "Yeah, well...he's not really a giver. Usually."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he's not talented." Augusta shot her a sly smile. "You sure you aren't jealous?"

"I had all of that for six years. Remember, I left him."

"I know, but ex-girlfriends are always jealous."

"After everything, if I never see Seth Gecko again, I'll be perfectly happy."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I'll tell you what. I'll trade you---Seth for Marcos. And we never have this conversation again."

"Sounds fair," Augusta said, although she sounded slightly sad. "Although you are getting the better of the deal, as you'll see your honey again."

"Marcos isn't my honey," Xanny said, frowning into the empty room.

"You know what I mean. No, Seth and Ritchie are off into the sunset, like Sisco and Sundance."

"Who?"

"I may be mixing up my legendary figures of the old west." She glanced at her. "Although you know we're going to talk about Seth and Marcos again, that's inevitable."

"Yeah, but not like we're guilty or anything. Towards each other, anyway."

"Okay, fair trade." She paused. "You think I'll see Seth again?"

"Augusta," Xanny said, trying to be gentle, "you really would be better off if you didn't. Not that he's so bad, I'm not saying that...but he's got Ritchie tagged to him. It's an Of Mice and Men complex. You get one, you get both."

"True." Augusta turned away. "Well, I guess I can still dream."

Xanny smiled as she turned off the light. "Be my guest," she said. And she promptly fell asleep. It was the most delightful, dreamless sleep she'd ever had.


	19. Reality Check

A/N: THe Usual disclaimer, and once again, I find myself fudging with the events of the movie's timeline. It just worked better for my story...sorry about that.

While the summary may say complete, please do not panic! There is a definite sequel to this story. I left way too many loose ends and I'm not done with Xanny or Augusta yet. Or Seth. Ritchie, unfortunately, will be left behind at the Titty Twister. Ce' la vie. Sorry, a1iciaxoxo. (smiles sympathetically) Also, I am going on vacation for the next week. The next story, called Convergence II: Saving Seth, will be started the following week, after I return. See you then! And don't forget to review!

Nineteen: Reality Check

Most of the excitement had passed, but the adventure was not over. Xanny had a new situation she had to deal with now. She had a twin sister. She was one of the Baxton heirs. And there was definitely something going on with Marcos Ferarre, although she didn't remember much of her conversation with Augusta in the morning, just something about how Augusta was going to break it off with him, and how she suspected that Marcos liked her.

Xanny had been a student of human nature for a long time. Carl had refined her skills into a more detective-like zone. But for the love of her, she couldn't see what Augusta had been talking about.

Upon returning home to the very large and expensive home in Chicago, Augusta would hardly let her go. Xanny claimed she had an apartment, she would come by soon, but Augusta wouldn't hear of it. This was her home now, Augusta said. It was as much Xanny's as it had ever been hers, she didn't need anything else.

It took a few days before Xanny took a car to her old apartment, collected her few belongings, told the landlord she wasn't coming back, told the man to keep the deposit, and left.

Then there was the battle with Augusta---the war of the makeover, as Xanny called it for years to come. She was dragged to spas where she was massaged and manicured until she felt like a walking ball of clay. The only thing she wouldn't do was let them touch her hair. Sure, they could wash it, comb it, style it, but they were not going to touch the blue in her hair until she wanted it gone. They had to have taken at least five years off her face with all their fancy masks. Xanny was almost grateful she hadn't grown up in that kind of life, and when she left, she determined that she wouldn't go back for that kind of treatment again unless she was sure she wanted it. So far, she was trying to make Augusta happy.

Then there was the matter of clothes---an entirely new wardrobe had to be purchased. Augusta seemed to favor casual clothes on a day-to-day basis, but there were many occasions when things much more fancy were called for. Xanny had never put on so many expensive dresses in her life. In fact, she had never worn a single thing that had ever cost more than a hundred dollars. While in her youth she had been rather good at shoplifting, it was only to feed her face, not to clothe herself. Clothes were easy, food was a bit more difficult.

She personally made sure that Carl was well paid for all his troubles. Marco was as good as his word and had made no fuss over paying what he had promised, but Xanny, knowing her quitting was going to cause a temporary hole for him, and also since she felt she owed him so much, set him up with a considerable chunk of change as a way of saying thank you. At first, she was almost sure Carl was going to refuse her, the way his pride had a tendency to swell, but Carl was not stupid, and money was always the best gift, as he would say.

Then the worst of it was the reporters. The news swam with stories for days on end, at first on the front page, then in gossip columns, then in society reports. Xanny wanted to puke at the thought of becoming part of society. It was amazing, how someone with a criminal record could suddenly become a fad. The paparazzi seemed to chase her whenever she left the house, the rag magazines running story after story about her "rags to riches" tale. They dug out all her dirty laundry, and Augusta was disgusted, almost as much as Aunt Anette, who wouldn't even hear the word "prison" in her presence. To her surprise, Xanny didn't care much. She had been judged and condemned and imprisoned in the past, at least now she could deal with it in nicer surroundings. She thought maybe she'd be a recluse---but Augusta always managed to drag her out of the house for something or other. Life took on a new routine which required major adjustments, but for the most part, Xanny felt that the biggest hurdles had been jumped, and that maybe, just maybe, she could relax for a while.

%%%%%%%%%%

In truth, it wasn't Xanny who had the life-altering reality check. Sure, her physical world had changed, but Augusta knew that inside, Alexandra Wallace-Baxton would always bee who she was, to hell with what anyone thought.

It was herself who was really dealing with change.

Sure, she put up a good front for a while. Long enough to polish Xanny up for her new life, get her adjusted. Marcos stayed at arm's length, coming in close enough only to make sure Xanny wasn't ready to fly the coop. After a while, when the distance between Augusta and Marcos became noticeable, she knew it was time to talk.

He was at the house the day she picked, in the study he'd been using, her father's old study, and he was collecting things that he'd brought over, as if preparing to move out. He had been there less and less, and reasoned that some of this stuff was important, that he needed to have it within his immediate grasp. She went into the study, closed the door behind her---it was the click that got his attention?

"What is it?" he asked, his tone gentle, but a look on his face that seemed to anticipate what she wanted to say. He was wearing a simple white, collarless, button-down shirt and black pants---it was a smart look for him, although at moments, if she looked at him too fast or out of the corner of her eye, he looked like a minister. He had trimmed his hair, causing the usual waves to fall more straight along his crown and upper neck, but not losing the full thickness of his hair in the process. He was a handsome man, she had to admit that. It had to be the reason she'd delayed this so long. It was so much harder when they were pretty. She would dare say he was much prettier than Seth, especially with those cheekbones. Seth had had a dirty ruggedness to him...well, she had more immediate concerns at the moment than comparing him to Seth, didn't she?

She came closer, her hands behind her back, a nervous gesture she was using more and more lately. He raised one eyebrow at her, and his look became more and more guarded, until she finally let out her breath.

"We need to talk."

"Famous last words," he said with a tiny grin in the corner of his mouth. He set down the book he was holding, walked around the desk to the chairs set in front of it, and waited.

"You want to sit down?" she said.

"Do you want me to sit? I mean, what will make this easier for you?"

"Easier for me?"

"Easier for you to break up with me." His large brown eyes were so honest at that moment, reminding her of a puppy dog who knew it deserved a punishment, but was going to try to cute its way out of it, anyway, and do it successfully.

She folded her arms. "It isn't like that."

"Yes it is." He didn't seem mad at all. He sighed, deeply. "I'm relieved, actually."

"You are?"

He nodded. "Things have been the same since you...came back."

"Since Xanny," she said knowingly.

"Since Xanny," he said in that cool, unaffected, businessman-manner of his. He shoved his hands into his pockets. A sign of discomfort. "Of course, before that, it wasn't a big treat, anyway. You never let me in, you know."

"I know," she said softly.

"What happened...changed you. I can read you more easily now. What bugs me is that you don't want me to. It didn't bother me before, though..." He seemed puzzled by this himself.

She had planned, all long, to point out to him his obvious feelings for Xanny, developed in her absence, and probably dismissed as transference. She hadn't planned to do it in such a cut-throat way, though. "Because of the way she is," Augusta pointed out. "Xanny is a lot more direct than I am. She's more...humble. Honest. Real."

Marcos gave a tiny little shrug. "True. I like her a lot-"

"You like her a whole lot," Augusta said.

He frowned. "Is this why you're breaking up with me?"

She shook her head. "No, you and I, we just aren't right together. I mean, we're good together, but we both know there's something better."

"Something better," he echoed, and she could see it rising into his face.

"No," she said, "don't go there. Please. This isn't about me and my problems. I mean, it is, but I really am doing this for you. You deserve to be happy. And I'll always care about you. Considering you'll probably end up as family anyway."

He almost blushed. "Xanny...she's wonderful, but she doesn't need me thrust at her. I mean, she's got enough things going on right now. Besides, I don't even know how she feels about me."

"Well, if I told you, I'd be betraying a sisterly-bond," Augusta said in a light-hearted way, "but if I were you, I wouldn't worry about that."

Marcos backed away. Went around the desk. Looked at her, back out the window, toward the books, the gears of his mind turning, clicking, whirling.

"What's wrong?" Augusta asked.

"Well, you did just break up with me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake...you're not upset about it and you know it."

He flinched. "I am, sort of."

"Why?" She hesitated, wondering if she should inquire as to the extent of his feelings for her, but had been pretty sure, for a bit now, that he didn't love her.

"Well..." and now there was guilt on his face. "I mean, Xanny...she's...you know..."

"Got a record?" Augusta said in a whisper. "Yeah, the press has already been all over that one. It won't pass over soon, but they're more like sympathizing with her than anything, the way she turned over a new leaf---I never understood that expression. Do we have leaves inside of us that turn over when we make a change? I don't get it."

"I know but I don't remember right now," he said, distracted.

"Marcos, you're a billionare. That isn't going to change. You're not going to go bankrupt if you get involved with a former criminal. And that's what you need to remember here, she's a _former_ criminal. Not a _current_ one."

"No, I didn't mean I thought she would steal from me," Marcos said quickly.

Augusta shook her head. "No, Marcos, but you did think she'd be bad for business. Didn't you? You didn't think about it on the road when you were looking for me because you got all caught up in the moment, but the second you came back to reality, you realized that your feelings wouldn't work, because the combination was bad." Her voice had turned hard, and then suddenly cracked. "Trust me, I know exactly where you're coming from. I'm there myself."

He looked at her, eyes slightly wide. "Seth?" he whispered.

She nodded. "It's so stupid...Stockholm syndrome," she suddenly said with a snap of her fingers. "I've been trying to think of that one for _days_ now!"

"The syndrome where hostages sympathize with their captors? You think you had that?"

"I never sympathized with Seth or Ritchie. I shot that guy who tried to kill them because...well, because I got caught up in the moment. And I got attached to Seth because...well, because I'm an idiot," she confessed. "But I never thought they were right in what they were doing."

"Doesn't always mean you side with them. Just that you get emotionally attached to them."

"So maybe it is Stockholm," she sighed. "Look, it's over, I'll deal with it. You been watching the news? They're currently terrorizing Texas. Those Rangers are going to eat them alive if they don't watch it."

Marcos just smirked at her.

"Sorry," she said. "Anyway, the point is you. So you're not going to get together with Xanny because she's a liability. Okay, fine, nice knowing you, Marcos."

"No!" Marcos said, a bit too loudly. "No, that isn't it. I just know that there are going to for me, and maybe for her. Come on, Augusta, you know how we live. The local society is always watching us, what we do. We've never been in a movie or sang a hit song, but they treat us like stars, it's annoying. Is she going to be able to deal with the paparazzi that are going to swarm over us? Is she going to try and push me away because she thinks I'm making a mistake? I mean, the possibilities for chaos are---"

"Getting way ahead of yourself, Marcos," Augusta said. "Look, don't move out of this study yet. Nobody is using it, and I like to think of it as yours. Why don't you and Xanny just take it slow? Nice and easy?"

"If there is such a thing," Marcos said. He looked at her. "What about you?"

"Me?" she said with a smirk. "I don't know. I'm thinking of getting away...going traveling. I need time with my brain, need to clear it out. I'd love Xanny to go with me, but in light of the circumstances I'm just as happy if she stays here."

"She'll want to go with you, most likely," Marcos pointed out.

"We'll work it out. All of us. Okay?" She gave him a slight smile, then walked around the desk. She hugged him, probably more warmly than she ever had in the years they'd been dating. As she pulled away, she took off the diamond engagement ring. "Here, I should give this back to you."

"Oh, you got it back from the jewelers," he said. "What did you say you did to it again?"

"I lied to you," she admitted. "I punched a purse-snatcher in the face."

He looked up at her quickly, wide-eyed. "You what?"

"I guess Xanny and I are related after all," she said with a slightly embarrassed laugh.

He took the ring. "I don't really feel right about this," he said. "It's been yours for so long."

"It wouldn't be right for me to keep it," she said. "Of course, it wouldn't be right for you to give it to Xanny, either."

"What was that before about getting ahead of yourself?" Marcos gasped. He chuckled, looked down at the ring. "Maybe I'll get the stones reset. That would be nice."

"Yeah, that's an idea." She backed away from him, towards the door. "Don't be a stranger," she said.

"Don't worry," he replied as she left the room.

%%%%%%%%%%

The first time Seth and Ritchie had been in Texas had been in 1988. It had been their very first bank job, right before Xanny came along. They weren't quite comfortable with their routine yet, had been stupid and made mistakes. Texas had tried to catch them then, but they'd fled the state before they could make another mistake, and when they came back, they had it much more together, and Xanny was a part of their team.

Now, Seth didn't want to think about anybody with blue or blonde hair, especially not with that face. Now, he could run roughshod over those Rangers and anybody else stupid enough to get in their way. The months passed, he and Ritchie went through periods of having so much money with them, they had to burn it. They would go through gallons of liquor and pay two or three whores at once, sometimes get robbed of the little cash they had left when they woke up---the ones with Seth, anyway. The ones with Ritchie were rarely seen again.

Seth didn't mind. It was all part of the glorious criminal system. He and Ritchie would go rip off another bank. But as the few months passed and Seth's rage finally began to ebb, they started to get lax.

Sloppy.

Careless.

Seth got caught.

It was a very stupid move. Ritchie was off doing whatever he did when he was alone, Seth preferred not to think about it, and Seth was headed for a bar, just to kick back for the evening, go through a few bottles of whiskey, get laid a half-dozen times. He didn't notice that there was an undercover cop in the bar. He didn't notice that the undercover cop kept watching him. He didn't notice when the undercover cop called for back-up, and when, at three in the morning, the trashy bar was surrounded by squad cars with their lights off, men with guns ready to take him in. The only reason he hadn't been shot on sight was because one of the prostitutes had stolen his gun to sell if for drugs, and he was unarmed. There were also still two prostitutes hanging onto him, so they police had a qualm about shooting what were technically "civilians." So Seth was handcuffed and led away. The arrest was surprisingly low key.

Seth felt humiliated to be taken in so easily. He had escaped law enforcement for years upon end, occasionally doing brief stints in county jails but nothing ever stuck to him. He called himself Mr. Slick at times, when he was particularly drunk. This time, though, he was fucked. They matched him up to the robbery back in 1988, and since he and Ritchie had killed two law enforcement officers, it was technically a murder charge, and there was no statute of limitations. He was held without bail because of the brutality of his crimes, and also because the District Attorney said she had some evidence that Seth might be linked to a similar string of bank robberies that had occurred rather recently. It was weak, but the court took it, mostly because if they hadn't, Seth might have been gunned down by the Texas Rangers, who wanted his blood.

And then, one day, Ritchie came to his rescue.

He'd been in stir for a month, awaiting trial. It was coming up soon, and they were anxious to give him the death penalty. He had a local public defender who tried to do his job, but kept scrunching his nose in disdain every time Seth came into the small room to discuss the case. Seth had little to say to him. The best chance they had was a case of mistaken identity. It was unlikely, because the defender wasn't slick enough to suggest anybody else who could have possibly committed these crimes. Plus, Seth's tattoo was a major strike against him---it was way too identifiable. It made the witnesses against him too confident. Apparently, Texans had little fear of a skinny white man who liked to rob banks. Even though every single one of them carried a gun, to actually use it was an unforgivable crime, especially against the innocent. The public was unforgiving. He was going to die.

Ritchie was a psychopath, to be sure, and that day Seth saw it for sure. He didn't have a solid plan, he just had a getaway car and a few guns with lots of bullets. He broke into the lock-up, shot a few people---although he didn't kill them, much to his own aggravation---and the rest went screaming and ducking for cover. Anybody who was stupid enough to pull their piece on him got shot somewhere they didn't want to be shot. The ER was quite full that afternoon.

Finally, Ritchie got a hostage---a young girl, no more than thirteen, the daughter of one of the officers working at the jail. Unwilling to let any harm come to his girl, the man did whatever Ritchie said. He would have given him a blow job if he'd asked for it. Thanks to Seth, the girl was returned to her father unharmed, but not before they'd managed to grab a bank teller, a woman Seth vaguely recognized as having been at the business end of his gun before, probably coming down to do another identification at the Prosecutor's request. She was plump, sweet-faced, with rolls of fat over her eyes that gave her a very meek appearance. Ritchie tied her wrists with duct-tape, threw her into their trunk, and they tore off, running over someone in the process---they didn't know who until later, some schoolteacher walking home from work.

Once again, the Gecko brothers were out, loose, and ready for action. But this time Seth knew he couldn't be stupid again. He got lucky with Ritchie busting him out. He doubted that luck would last.

"Head for the border, Ritchie," Seth said. "We're going to Mexico, for real this time."


End file.
